Sucker Punch
by OughtaKnowBetter
Summary: The team helps out with a military operation on the Islands, and runs into more trouble than they anticipate.
1. Chapter 1

Sucker Punch

By OughtaKnowBetter

Obligatory disclaimer: Don't own them, but one can always dream…

* * *

><p>"Tell me again whose lame idea it was that I'm here," Detective Danny Williams grumbled at his fishing pole. "I don't like fishing. I'm not a beach person. I don't like boats, and I get a sunburn after fifteen minutes in the sun even when I've slathered on two gallons of sunblock with an SPF of two thousand twenty three. Why am I even here?"<p>

The man behind the wheel of the yacht on the deck looming over him grinned, turning off the engine and listening to the propeller slowing and finally stopping. "'Cause Robert Nycroft doesn't look a thing like Kono." He scanned the broad expanse of choppy waves, noting the white crests that rocked the small powered craft more than a little. Aside from that, there was nothing to see, not even the fin of some larger than average sea creature breaking the water surface. "I hope they show."

"Yeah. Maybe." Danny wasn't convinced.

His partner had good reason, Steve reflected, carefully not looking at the man. This wasn't even a Five-0 operation they were on, but a military excursion thoughtfully brokered by Lt. Cmdr. McGarrett and some upper level buds from the base and sanctioned by a governor who knew that cooperation with the local military authorities had far-reaching consequences that kept the State of Hawaii in good repair.

It had started when Andy Lopez—that was Commander Lopez, even though he was 'Andy' to his friends—had approached Steve with a concern that the usual black market pilfering had gotten out of hand on the naval base. There was always a little bit missing here and there, and Andy simply took it as part and parcel of doing business. If a ream of paper went missing, or a case of penicillin, the world would not come to an end.

This was more than a box of pencils. A serious piece of armament that went by the classification of an X-56 class torpedo, self-propelled and suitable for turning the scuffle between North and South Korea into a full-fledged conflict, had gone missing.

Steve recalled the discussion over a round of beers in Steve's living room. Andy hadn't been willing to have the conversation in any place with a reasonable chance of being overheard, and Steve had offered his home.

Andy Lopez welcomed the chance to relax and unload. The man was someone that Steve had served with, had run more than one mission alongside, and he had a great deal of respect for Commander Lopez's talents both in the field and in the back room. Andy's rise through the ranks had been based on merit, not on politics.

Andy had returned the favor, had followed Steve's own career through his mutation into the leader of one of Hawaii's more prominent and successful crime-fighting units. That was why there had been a phone call to a certain personal cell after hours with a bit of verbal dancing on both ends that had led to this quiet meeting.

Steve had shrugged. "I'll have to ask the Governor, but I can't see anyone saying no," was his response. "Give me what you've got."

"It's not much," Andy sighed, pushing forward a manila folder. "I had CPO Mulrooney conduct an audit of the armament, once I had a suspicion that something was missing. I thought we were just missing a couple cases of M-16s," he said aggrievedly. "Instead, Mulrooney couldn't find a damned torpedo!"

Steve frowned. "Are you sure that it wasn't just a paperwork error?"

"I wish." Andy looked away, looked out through the large window onto the garden outside the McGarrett homestead. There was a lone rose bush poking a few leaves over the windowsill, a single pink rose bravely demanding to grow in an environment meant for hibiscus. Steve's mother had planted it, and, after her death, his father had dutifully cared for it, year after year. _Now it's my turn._

Andy pulled Steve's attention back to the case. "No, we took a shipment of fifteen X-56's some three months ago. Mulrooney checked them in himself, put in the serial numbers and logged them as received. Not likely he made a mistake."

Steve furrowed his eyebrows. "Pretty hefty items to go missing. Didn't anyone notice a big hole somewhere?"

"That's the thing about the 56s. They're smaller than a Mark 46 by a foot or so, but they pack the same wallop and the smaller size makes them even easier to hide. We can attach them to the side of a midget sub, or practically hook 'em onto the edge of a rowboat. When you have fifteen of them, it's not that hard to glance over a bunch of tarps in a shed and think that they're all there. Steve," and Andy leaned forward, his beer forgotten in his hands, "I've got people investigating on the inside, but everyone can see them coming from a mile away. I need someone that nobody knows."

Steve snorted. "Hate to break it to you, Andy. People haven't forgotten my face, either."

"Yeah, but you've got people working for you, Steve, people that the military community doesn't know." Now Andy leaned back against the faded fabric of the sofa, grabbing and hugging one of the cushions, unaware of how much comfort he needed. "We've got a lead, Steve. It's a Seaman Robert Nycroft, who works in munitions. He's perfectly placed to do what he's doing: grab a torpedo and sell it to the highest bidder."

"Right. Grab a torpedo. How did he get it out of the torpedo shed?"

"Like I said, Steve: it's not that big. Drive up in a pick-up, shove it in the back end and throw a tarp over it, and you've just bought yourself a brand spanking new X-56. Which is apparently what Nycroft did." Andy toyed with the bottle of beer in his hand, not drinking. "He switched out his red hotrod type car for a pick-up, so that everyone would get used to his habit of driving it onto the base parking lot. Some of the enlisted types would see a crate in the back end every now and again, and didn't think anything of it. This went on for months. From the looks of his bank account, he probably heisted at least two dozen crates of pineapples besides the X-56, and I'm not talking the type of pineapples that grow in your back yard."

"And now he's graduated to the big time," Steve observed dryly. He took a long pull on his own beer. "You have any proof?"

Andy snorted grimly. "We've got his ass in a sling. We nailed him with a crate of grenades in his shed, off base. He's going to be a guest of Uncle Sam, with three hots and a cot for the next ten years. If we can prove the torpedo connections and dealing with foreign powers, we'll make his eight by ten his permanent residence for the rest of his life."

"Then what's the problem? You've got your man; why do you need Five-0?"

"Because we're greedy." The look on Commander Lopez's face wasn't greedy at all. It was desperate. There was more to the story. "Nycroft is trying to cut a deal: the destination of the X-56 in exchange for an honorable discharge. Benefits and everything. Record expunged."

"So you want us to find out where the 56 is headed."

"No." That surprised Steve, and Andy hurried on. "Well, yes, that's part of it, but not even half of what we're after. Nycroft has already started dealing with some big boys, and those are the people that we want. From some of the hints he's dropped, we think that he's got a deal going with someone."

"And you want to know who."

"That would be helpful; yes."

_Oh_, it would be helpful. The misery in Commander Lopez's eyes made that very clear and Steve could understand. To have to explain to taxpayers why an expensive torpedo wasn't where it should be was bad enough, but to have it in the hands of someone who wanted to use it for their own gain was intolerable. Steve could think of half a dozen groups who would kill—literally kill— to get their hands on new technology like this, ranging from the crazies in North Korea all the way through a drug lord with a grudge against the Coast Guard. Even underground techies would like to have a shot at it, to copy the technology and then sell knock-offs to whoever would pay. To take down a group like that would be a win for the Navy, the State of Hawaii, and all Good Guys around the world in general.

There was something else—as if a missing torpedo and a foreign power bidding for the stolen technology weren't enough. Steve had known Andy Lopez for many years, and could read him like a book. Steve had proven that fact over several poker games. "And…?"

Andy wouldn't meet his eyes. "We think we know the location of the meet, Steve."

"Okay…?" There was more to it.

"Nycroft has a boat, a small yacht, actually. Powered. He calls it the _Sucker Punch_."

"And—?" Steve had done interrogations that were less work.

"We don't _think_ that he's met the buyers. Talked to them, yes, and made a deal. Met them, probably not. Not in person."

Steve had had enough. "I need everything that you've got, Andy. _Everything_."

Andy grimaced. "There was a reason that I thought of you, Steve. Reasons beyond your general tendency to dig into problems further than any other man I know." He indicated the manila folder that he'd placed on the coffee table between them. "Look in there, and tell me what you think."

It was time for some hard evidence, something beyond this general reciting of a bad situation. Steve flipped open the folder, noting the transcripts of conversations between Nycroft and someone known as Ivan and another person with the name of Ekaterina. There was even a third party, later on, who called himself Diego. The grammar got a bit convoluted here and there, suggesting that one or more of the group's English was force-fed, which tended to bolster Andy's theory that an overseas Black Market was involved.

Then there was Seaman Robert Nycroft's service record, shortly to be morphed into a rap sheet for crimes yet to be prosecuted. The man had served a tour in the Middle East with little to distinguish himself beyond two reprimands for drunkenness and one late for duty. He seemed to have done his job neither well nor poorly, and had been transferred to Commander Lopez's bailiwick almost six months ago.

There were three months of calm, and then the suspicions started to surface. As Andy had told him, Mulrooney had been assigned to check the inventory when the rumors floated in, and it hit the fan. Nycroft had tried to cover his tracks, but his attempts were clumsy at best. Rather than arrest the man on the spot, Commander Lopez had made the decision to let things ride for another few days and had been rewarded by intelligence that could lead to plugging several holes. Steve could understand Andy's actions. Even coming here, today, was the smart thing to do: as the commander had said, anyone who was anyone could see the Naval Intelligence people coming from half a mile away. The locals who knew the territory were well-known, for the most part, and those from out of the state didn't know the lay of the land. Commander Lopez needed help from outside of military channels.

Why Steve? Even though Steve McGarrett was no longer part of the chain of command, it had still been little enough time that Steve's face was a known commodity—oh.

Steve flipped over to the next page, and the answer was instantly clear.

Robert Nycroft was Caucasian, a little shorter than average, with light brown hair that would pass for blond in the right sunlight, blue eyes—

-and bore more than a passing resemblance to a certain snarky detective who was sitting in the front of the boat that Steve McGarrett was currently piloting.

Steve continued to study the back of the head of his partner. Danny Williams wasn't a perfect ringer for Robert Nycroft but the likeness was close enough so that anyone who hadn't met Nycroft more than once would accept Danny as Nycroft. A little more dredging of the files with some pertinent memorization, and Danny could now announce to anyone who asked that Robert Nycroft had grown up with the nickname of Bobby, had gone to Brewster High School in upstate New York with a science teacher named Mrs. Freiberg who had had it in for him when she flunked him after his sophomore year and made him go to summer school, and had joined the navy after finding out that he really didn't have an aptitude for repairing plumbing fixtures and that his mother wasn't about to continue to support his aspirations of a lifestyle to which he wished to become accustomed. Young Bobby had had a dog named Charlie during his formative years, a mutt with leanings toward a black lab, and several hamsters along the way. His sister Caitlyn was an actress on Broadway and had actually gotten a couple of good reviews in a small production that had gotten bad reviews overall and closed after a run of only two weeks; not a big deal. Nycroft hadn't spoken to her in over a year.

Steve had gone on to meet Seaman Nycroft in person, and had been unimpressed. This was not a big time criminal, just an over-aged adolescent who had had the fortune—or misfortune—to be in the right place at the wrong time to steal a torpedo. Nycroft was in over his head, gotten caught, and Steve and Andy and the U.S. Navy were about to take advantage of his misfortune.

The meet: twelve miles out to sea, right at the edge of territorial waters. Five-O had been able to determine the date, time, and place from communications found within Nycroft's home, although not the group that he would be meeting with. Nycroft had managed to score the one good rookie lawyer from the local JAG unit, one who advised him to keep his mouth shut until a deal that didn't involve the death penalty for treason could be arranged. That meant that Steve and Danny were out on the water in the good ship _Sucker Punch_, no one in sight, waiting for…what?

There was a radio next to the controls that Steve stood before, but the transceiver was turned off. There wasn't a ship in sight, and certainly not anyone or anything that could be traced back to either the navy or the State of Hawaii. It was a given that whoever Nycroft had expected to meet would be scanning the airwaves, watching for American authorities to swoop in.

So this was a raid of another kind. Lopez had arranged for naval maneuvers to occur today somewhere out around the twenty nautical mile mark, far enough away so that whoever was coming in for the meet would only be a little skittish instead of being scared off entirely. Once the meet had been completed, Steve would turn on the equipment and signal that a pick up could commence.

The torpedo that was sitting on the deck of the _Sucker Punch_ and covered with tarp was the real thing, although one that had less than one percent of the explosive power of the original. It was also equipped with a tracking device, one that would be turned on once someone tried to put the torpedo into action. Unless a higher level technician did a thorough look-see, it would fool just about anyone. Even the serial number was correct.

Only one thing missing: the other side. Steve swayed uneasily from one foot to the other, automatically shifting his center of gravity to keep up with the waves that were lapping uncomfortably high against the sides of the _Sucker Punch_. There was a storm headed in this direction, he knew, but it wasn't due to make landfall until several hours after the meet was to take place. In the meantime, the choppy water made this an ideal time for two illicit parties to make contact. Anyone innocent of wrongdoing would take one look and decide to spend the day surfing closer to home.

"Am I really supposed to be fishing like this?" Danny asked in an aggrieved voice. "These waves are taller than I am. And have I mentioned recently that I get seasick?"

"You're a Navy boy now, Danno." Steve continued to scan the horizon. "Navy types don't get seasick."

"This one does. If they don't show up pretty soon, I'm gonna toss my cookies overboard."

Yeah, his partner was looking green around the gills. Steve didn't blame him; this was water that would push the limits of more than one sailor. Steve had known plenty of Seabees who would be heading for the john right about now. If it weren't for this meet, he'd have been aimed for port long ago.

"You might as well put up the fishing gear," Steve told him. "The fish aren't going to be biting in this weather, and there's no one to look good for."

"Finally, something going right. I was afraid that I might have to pull in a fish." Danny hauled in the fishing line, taking care that the hook didn't slide into tender flesh, and stowed the equipment away into its locker. "Maybe we should head in? Waves like this, there might be a message back at Nycroft's place telling him to reschedule."

"They're only fifteen minutes late." Steve kept his hands on the wheel. "We'll give them another fifteen. If they don't show by then, we'll head back." He edged one foot out a little further, to give himself a wider stance to balance on as the waves rocked the craft. It would be a short fifteen minutes, he decided. After all, the real Nycroft wasn't much of a sailor, according to his papers—

It was the boiling up of the water that first alerted him; that, and the indefinable _something_ rocking under his feet. The deck tilted this way and that; out of the corner of his eye he saw Danny grab frantically for something to anchor himself with, letting the rest of the fishing equipment slide away aft. A half-outraged, half-panicking howl emerged from his partner.

_Oh, shit…!_

It wasn't as big as a whale, not one of the great whales, but it was bigger than the yacht and twice as mean. A long and dark outline slowly emerged from the depths, bubbles hissing and spitting, until the first slender metal rod broke the water line, shoving more waves over the deck of the _Sucker Punch_.

Steve caught his breath. _How the hell—?_ It was a damned _sub!_ Sure, a mini-submarine, designed for stealth, but there weren't many of the things built and all of those were owned by the various militaries of the… His thoughts trailed off into waters murkier than those he was floating in. This wasn't just Black Market stuff; this was going to have international repercussions, and former Navy SEAL Steve McGarrett was getting caught in the middle of it!

No help for it now; they'd have to play it through and hope for the best. How well would Danny play his role? Big, fat question mark. If the discussion veered to anything remotely nautical, they were sunk; no pun intended. The Jersey cop had lived on the islands without yet embracing the culture, and it was too much to ask that he'd acquired the knowledge that any Island boy knew. Danny Williams was going to have to give the right answers that a Navy SeaBee would say.

Danny looked at his boss with big and scared eyes that told Steve that Danny too realized what they were facing. A round hole in the top of the fifty foot mini-sub opened, and four people emerged, three of them armed with automatic weaponry. Steve tried to see what they were carrying: one seemed to have an Uzi, and another an AK-47. Grabbed from the back streets, then; that suggested that this really was a Black Market group instead of a branch of someone's military. Unless that was what they wanted people to think…Steve had run across several groups that operated underneath the radar. What better way to confuse people than to use multiple brands of firearms? Steve swallowed hard; the handgun in his shoulder holster seemed something less than useful at the moment.

There were no identifying letters on the mini-sub, just black paint that would allow the vessel to go undetected. It was small enough that there was likely a Big Mama waiting out for it in the ocean, but where Big Mama was sitting was something for someone back at the base to figure out from the safety of his desk in front of a sonar screen. If the US Navy wanted a piece of her, they were welcome to it. Steve just wanted to stay alive through this little slice of life.

It was Danny's show now. Steve was just the 'hired muscle', up on deck piloting the boat because 'Robert Nycroft' was too good to do menial work like that.

Danny swallowed hard, forcing down the seasickness, insisting that some of the tri-state swagger come on board. He spread his feet into a wider stance to keep from toppling over from the swaying of the smaller craft. "Yo! Can you move it a little? You can dive deep to get away from the storm, but _I_ gotta make a run for the shoreline and tie this baby down."

One by one, three of the four jumped off of the mini-sub to land sure-footed on the deck of the _Sucker Punch_. One remained behind, on guard, scanning the surrounding waves much as Steve had been doing just moments before, Uzi secure in his arms.

Steve stared at the trio, committing their likenesses to memory. The lead was a woman, a tall one, coming in at several inches above Danny Williams. She pulled off the hood to her wetsuit, revealing long blonde tresses—Steve was reminded of the generic Russian agent that James Bond always seemed to take to bed in the final scenes of each movie. Icy blue eyes, wide mouth that was turned down in a frown, and an AK-47 swung casually over her shoulder.

She addressed Danny. "You were to come alone."

Danny had his answer ready. "Right. Me, all by my lonesome, and you with three hunks of meat. I don't think so, lady. Besides, this thing ain't no lightweight piece of junk. I needed help to get it aboard my boat. You got my money?"

Another stab in the dark. Nycroft had refused to give up any details of the transaction. The group had discussed this during the planning stages, how to talk about money without giving away just how little they knew.

Success: "I will tell the bank to transfer the funds to your account in Switzerland as soon as the torpedo is mine," she told him. "You have it?"

Danny gestured to the tarp-covered tube. "Right there. You want to see it?"

"Yes, I wish to see it." That was definite, and the two men with her tugged the tarp off of the torpedo.

The first few drops of rain were beginning to fall, and they tapped small circles into the dust that clung to the X-56. That didn't matter to anyone present on the _Sucker Punch_. They only had eyes for the dull metal hull, the serial number etched into the side. The woman motioned to one of her people, instructing him to inspect the purchase.

"Hey," Danny objected as the man started to open the hatch to the electronic innards.

She favored him with a cool stare. "You perhaps object to my people ensuring that it is a real X-56?"

"Oh, it's real, baby. It's real, all right." Danny back-pedaled.

"That is what we will determine." She added something in another language, aimed at the man looking at the torpedo.

Not Russian; Steve was reasonably certain of that. Ukrainian? Maybe. Steve wasn't about to say that he would recognize even half of the Slavic languages that were floating around Eastern Europe. Steve wished that they'd thought to put in something like a recorder or transmitter to capture the discussion. _Too late now_.

The man said something back to her, and she turned back to Danny, satisfied. "It is genuine."

"Like I said: it's real." Now for the hard part. They'd coached Danny through this until they were satisfied. "You got a buyer for this?"

The woman sniffed. "This? This technology is old. We have no need for it."

Uh-oh. That wasn't part of the script. The woman was supposed to give Danny—and Steve, listening oh so closely—a hint of which country was after new-fangled US technology.

Danny played the part of the low level seaman well. "What're you talking about? This is Grade A US military hardware."

"Exactly, which is why it is valuable to us." She favored him with an appraising stare. "If I were you, I would not remain in this area for long. I would especially avoid the _Newton_."

Danny played stupid. "Why?"

She rolled her eyes. "Move the torpedo to our vessel," she instructed her crew.

Steve subdued his excitement, keeping his face free from emotion. Crap, this wasn't Black Market stuff, this was international intrigue! The Canadian ship _HMCS Newton_ was docked in town in preparation for the arrival of Sheik Hassan al-Kazid, one of the prime unaligned chieftains in Afghanistan. The only reason that Steve himself knew of the talks was because of his own connections; he doubted that Danny had any clue that the Sheik was going to be sampling the delights of the Hawaiian beaches, let alone engaging in business. There were supposed to be some quiet talks between Sheik Hassan al-Kazid and certain government officials on the neutral territory of the Canadian ship, after which would hopefully come some announcement of an agreement of cooperation that would expand peace and good will in places where peace and good will were sorely needed.

A torpedo of American make that smashed into that ship killing a bunch of innocent Canadians, Americans, and Afghanis would do more damage than killing a few people. It would take down any real chance of peace for decades, perhaps even longer. People would immediately jump to the conclusion that, because the torpedo was American, that the American government and its people were to blame. Steve carefully unclenched his jaw, hoping that no one had noticed his reaction. Sheik Hassan al-Kazid's people weren't known for letting a grudge rest quietly. Steve seemed to recall hearing about one that had lasted for more than four hundred years, and was profoundly grateful that they'd taken the time to remove the explosives from the cone of the torpedo.

Not that it would help much, not if Steve knew his mercenaries—and that's what these four were. These were people who had been hired to do a job by those who couldn't afford to be seen, and they had been paid well to do it right. The inspection that had been done was cursory, but the next one would be an in-depth look into the guts of the X-56 and it would come out that they had been swindled. The mercenaries would have a choice: put in more explosive into the nose cone—and Steve had no doubt that they'd be able to acquire some from somewhere—or come up with another plan to cause chaos and strife for the target.

That would be difficult; Five-O would see to that. Now that they were warned, they and the military would take steps to ensure that the talks between Sheik Hassan al-Kazid and others would be uninterrupted. All Steve needed to do was to get the intel back to shore.

Danny stood back, letting the men from the mini-sub do all the heavy lifting, his arms folded across his chest. Steve, too, looked down over the tableau from his position on the high deck. There was no camera—it would have been too dangerous, with too much chance of being found out—so Steve would simply have to rely on his memory so that they could identify this group later. He concentrated on the details, the way that the first man took hold of the tarp with his left hand, suggesting that he was a lefty, and the scar that etched itself across the second's cheek and down onto his neck. There was the barest outline of a tattoo on the first's wrist, something that looked like a hawk or some other predatory bird. Steve only got a glimpse of it before the man's sleeve covered it up once again.

It took only moments for them to slide the X-56 into the mini-sub, and Steve wondered idly where they had put it. Those vessels had very little room for crew, let alone take on a torpedo. With a mocking salute, the woman followed her men off the _Sucker Punch_ and disappeared into the depths of the mini-sub. A clanking noise indicated that the locks had been set on the entry hole to the sub's interior, and moments later the sub slipped into the watery depths.

There was nothing left to indicate that a meet had ever taken place. Nothing but moisture on the deck of the _Sucker Punch_ where several wet feet had walked.

Danny gave the silence another moment before suggesting, "you think we better call this in? Before we get to shore?"

"Yeah." There was something bugging him, something that Steve couldn't put his finger on. It would come to him eventually; he only hoped that it would be at 3AM when he was too tired to do anything about it. "You do it. I'll head this thing back home. We'll give a detailed report once we get to port." He tabbed the starter button, listening to the engine catch and turn over.

On the main deck, Danny wasn't having the same success with the radio. "Five-0 one to Five-0 two. Come in. Come in, dammit."

A burst of static marred the reception, and Steve could barely make out Chin's voice. He glanced up toward the sky; dark clouds had filled the top arena and on the not too distance horizon he could see a heavy sheet of rain coming toward them. "The weather's likely interfering. Keep trying, and don't get discouraged."

"I'm not worried about getting discouraged. I'm worried about getting soaked." Danny winced automatically as the first heavy and cold drops fell on bare arms.

"This tug boat isn't designed to be out in the rain," Steve agreed, pushing the throttle forward. He felt the engine thrust the vessel forward, cutting through the waves that were steadily rising in height. Yeah, it was past time to be heading in. He only hoped that they could run before the peak of the storm in time to avoid getting caught.

Afterward, Steve McGarrett would never be able to say exactly what prompted him to look over the edge of the boat when he did. Perhaps it was a coming premonition about the towering waves racing across the surface of the ocean. It might have been the stray thought that the mini-sub was designed to carry five crew members, and they had only seen four.

In the long run, that wouldn't matter. What did matter was that he spotted a foreign object attached to the hull of the _Sucker Punch_, an object that was circular, nearly half a meter in diameter, and ticking.

"Mine!" Steve yelled.

Just before the world came to an end.


	2. Did He Say 'Submarine?

"Come in! Come in! Say again; you're breaking up." Chin tabbed the radio controls, trying to persuade the equipment to function. "Five-0 one, you're breaking up. Steve, there's a heavy storm coming your way, and you need to get out of there. Can you hear me?"

Kono too leaned closer to the bank of electronics, trying to hear what was being said through the static. She stuck her hair behind her ear, refusing to let anything remain in the path of the faint sound waves struggling to emerge. "I think it's Danny on the radio, not Steve."

"Meet….took the torpedo…target on American…" The signal sputtered.

"Danny, say again! Say again! What American target?" Chin didn't slam the board in frustration, but it was a near thing.

"Aiming for…shi…"

Kono too pushed buttons. "I'm getting this on tape. Maybe the techs can clean up the sound."

"Damn sub…"

"What was that?" Chin jerked up. "Did Danny just say something about a sub? A submarine? What the hell is out there?" He jabbed his finger against the send button once more. "Five-0 two to Five-0 one, say again. Did you say submarine?"

"Hell, yeah—" The signal cut out in a firestorm of electronic dismay and died altogether.

Chin tightened his lips in displeasure, turning off the power disgustedly. "We won't be getting anything more out of them until they make landfall."

Kono automatically glanced toward the window. There were precious few strands of sunlight outside; dark clouds were rolling in, promising a thorough dousing for the sugar cane fields further inland. "I hope they get back soon. It does not look good outside." _And I don't want Steve and Danny caught in it, on the open ocean_, was her unvoiced addition.

"Steve's a good sailor," Chin told her. It would have been more reassuring if they thought that it would be enough to get the other half of the Five-0 team safely to shore. "I'll bet he's making better time that the engine of the _Sucker Punch_ is rated for." He deliberately brightened. "What say we head over to the dock, meet them there? Sounds like they'll have some good leads to follow. I really want to hear about that 'submarine'," he added grimly. "I'll bet there's a story there."

Kono agreed. "We can bring them dry clothing." She jerked her thumb toward The Great Outdoors. "They'll likely be soaked once they get to land."

* * *

><p>It took forever for his nose and mouth to break the surface of the water, and Danny hastily gulped a welcome breath before yelling, "Steve!"<p>

Another wave crashed over his head, and he thrashed wildly before realizing that he needed to work with the white-capped water to avoid being drowned. He calmed himself with deliberation, using his legs to send him upward so that he could inhale another ration of oxygen. "Steve! Steve!"

No answer. No body, just lots of debris from what used to be the _Sucker Punch_. Where the hell were the flotation devices? This was a damn yacht, wasn't it? Didn't Nycroft believe in adhering to the rules? Apparently not; if he had, he wouldn't have stolen a damn torpedo and Danny Williams wouldn't be in this mess. "Steve!"

What the hell happened? Danny insisted that his waterlogged brains do their job—oh, yeah. He remembered Steve yelling something about a mine, and Danny was going to take a wild guess to figure that his boss wasn't talking about a deep hole in the earth where men used pick-axes to search for diamonds. No, it was pretty clear what had happened: somehow those bastards in the sub had tacked a bomb on the side of the _Sucker Punch_ while they were taking possession of the torpedo. At the moment it didn't really matter much _how_ they had done it. Keeping his head above the six foot waves seemed like a much higher priority.

Oh, and had he mentioned that finding one Lt. Cmdr. Steven McGarrett was also well up on the agenda? "Steve!"

Not even any seagull screams, trying to convince him that one of those birds went by the name of 'Steve'. No, the seagulls were smart. They were hunkered down on the shore, preparing to ride out the storm that was bearing down on him. It was only the stupid humans who were idiotic enough to get themselves caught without even a boat on the open seas. He opened his mouth once more, praying not to get it filled with salt water: "Steve!"

All Danny could hear was the constant slapping of the water as it drove in waves past his head.

Danny grabbed a large piece of what used to be part of the _Sucker Punch_ as it tried to float by. It looked like the remnants of a locker, but the important piece was that it was floating and he could hang onto it. There were other chunks of the destroyed craft, but most of them appeared to be taking on water fast. Some were already sinking beneath the water.

Not this one. This one seemed buoyant, and Danny had no intention of letting go. If he was lucky, it would keep him afloat until someone came by and rescued him. Let's see, how long would it be? Chin and Kono might get worried when they couldn't raise the _Sucker Punch_ on the short-wave, but then again they might not. It would be reasonable for them to assume that the radio wasn't working because of the impending storm. It could be hours before they thought to send anyone out to look for Steve and Danny.

Speaking of whom, where the hell was his boss? Had the man been killed in the explosion, his body already consigned to the fishes? Danny scanned the water around him once more, examining and dismissing each dark object as yet one more piece of the ill-fated _Sucker Punch_—wait! What was that? "Steve!"

There was no response, but that didn't matter. There was a long and lean body draped over something that was sinking fast. Danny kicked frantically, expending valuable energy to propel his own makeshift float in the direction of the unconscious man. Waves spilled over him, but he didn't stop.

One more foot, now only inches—Danny reached out and grabbed his partner, just before Steve slipped off of the flotsam. Summoning all of his strength, Danny hauled the man up and onto his own float, making certain that the man's face was up and out of the sea water.

"Steve!" His partner wasn't saying anything, and suddenly Danny saw why: there was a deep gash in the man's forehead, the blood washed clean in the ocean. Steve had been clipped by something flying by in the explosion. He'd been lucky to have landed on something marginally seaworthy. If he hadn't, Danny would be breaking in a new team leader.

Hell, he still might. There were no guarantees that either one of them was going to make it to shore alive. There was the storm, and there were sharks, and the storm, and whales, and the storm…

The seawater felt very cold.

* * *

><p>Kono glanced at the clock on the wall of the dock house, then looked out over the choppy waters. "Shouldn't they have gotten in by now?"<p>

Chin tightened his lips. That was the same question he'd been asking himself for the past fifteen minutes, and it sounded worse when it was said aloud. "Yeah." He too stared out through the driving rain, trying to see into the gray mess that the Pacific Ocean had turned into. There was another statement that was running through his brain as well: no one could survive open waters in this, not in the size boat that the other half of Five-0 had been in. Commander Lopez had a cruiser out in the general area poised for support if it had been needed by the _Sucker Punch_ but at the moment it too had battened down the hatches and was riding out the storm.

There hadn't been another word from the _Sucker Punch_, and that alone was worrisome. Even with the storm, it was clear that all of the information hadn't been transmitted from one half of the team to the other, and what little had gotten through was enough to put the naval base on high alert. Just two little pieces passed on to Commander Lopez—'sub' and 'American target'—had sent more than one naval officer scurrying. There were plenty of attractive targets that a torpedo of the X-56 class could take out, including a dozen small naval warships and a dozen more that wouldn't be sunk by the undersized torpedo but would need a substantial amount of time in dry dock before they could consider themselves seaworthy again.

It had been Kono who had made them all think again, and worry even more. "Who says that it has to be a naval target?" she had asked grimly to Cmdr. Lopez. "If a terrorist were to send the torpedo toward one of the fishing or tourist piers, there'd be terror in the streets. Hawaiian tourism would be demolished overnight. We'd starve."

Lopez had agreed, and part of the proceeding naval actions had to do with putting the sonar techs on an equally high level of alert, looking for foreign submarines sitting outside of territorial waters. At the moment, there wasn't much to see, he had told them. Any intelligent sub commander would be sitting his vessel on the floor of the ocean, waiting for the storm to pass, and sonar wouldn't detect the vessel until it started to move.

That was a relief. There was no way that the X-56 would be able to be aimed against a target on shore from that distance, so if someone planned to use the torpedo in a terrorist attack, they'd have to move the sub in closer to shore. Any such movement would be detected, and that would give the Navy time to thwart the plan. Five-0 would evacuate the area and the tourists, and the Navy would apprehend the perpetrators.

Plus, there was no benefit for any terrorist to launch the torpedo in this weather. Everyone would be under cover, taking advantage of the indoor attractions that Hawaii had to offer and escaping the tropical storm. The storm might be a nuisance, but it gave Five-0 additional time to plan. Lopez signed off from the discussion after extracting a promise for Chin and Kono to call him as soon as the other half of Five-0 arrived back at dock.

Chin's cell phone pinged, and he automatically pulled it out to look at the screen for the identity of the caller. He frowned. "It's the governor." He flipped open the small device. "Yes, governor. No, sorry, Steve's not available. He's undercover, for the Navy; hasn't gotten back in."

Pause, to listen. "No, ma'am."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Yes, ma'am." Eyes flickered over at Kono, worry deep and brown. "Yes, ma'am, we'll get right on it, just as soon as Cmdr. McGarrett—"

Not good enough. "Yes, ma'am, I know it's a naval operation and that Five-0 was just lending a bit of manpower, but—"

"Yes, ma'am." Crestfallen, even though his face revealed nothing at all of his dismay. "We'll get right on it. Yes, ma'am. Now."

Kono moved in just as soon as the call was concluded. "Chin?"

"That was the governor," Chin told her, as if his cousin couldn't have guessed. "She has another task for us."

"Without Steve and Danny?"

"She doesn't want us to wait; it's a protection detail," he added.

Kono raised her eyebrows. "Protection? Coz, I've only had the basics in protection. Why doesn't the governor ask for some trained help? Maybe get some of the Secret Service people to do it?"

"She has," Chin told her. "She wants us to look over the arrangements, keep our ear to the ground. There's some whispering about some plot to disrupt the proceedings, and the governor has promised the State Department that we'll take care of it."

"She did?" Both thrilled at the vote of confidence—and dismayed. "She _does_ know that Steve and Danny are still out in _that_?" Kono jerked her thumb at the storm outside.

"Yeah, and she says to get moving. This thing won't wait. Told me to have Steve and Danny clean up and get back to their day jobs just as soon as they come in." Chin set his jaw. He looked at her. "Listen, we still need to make sure that Steve and Danny get in safely. You go down to the dock and watch for them. I'll start on the detail, make contact with Lt. Kam and tell him what the governor has decided."

"Kam?" Kono frowned. "He's not on your fan list, coz."

"He doesn't have to be, Kono," Chin reproved. "All he has to do is his job. As do we," he reminded her. "Touch base with me in an hour if Steve and Danny don't get in. That should be plenty of time." _And time to push the panic button_, he carefully didn't add.

He didn't need to. Kono could read between the lines just as well as anyone.

* * *

><p>This might be the tropics and the water warm compared to what was floating around Alaska, but Danny was getting damn cold. He could barely feel his feet, and his toes were a lost cause.<p>

That was the least of his troubles. The waves were taller than he was, and were crashing over him every three to five seconds. His makeshift float was still buoyant, but just barely. The storm had covered the sky so that he could barely see ten feet in any direction, even if the waves would have cleared enough to let him. Rain pounded his head in between the periodic dousing by the waves and plastered his hair to his scalp.

He was alive, and so was Steve. Danny hung on grimly to his float.

_Like I got options?_

* * *

><p>Chin Ho Kelly took a deep breath and pasted a deliberately pleasant smile onto his face. As he'd told Kono, this was a job. He needed to be neither liked nor appreciated. He did, however, need information. He held out his hand with exceptional calm. "I'll need to see the files, Lt. Kam."<p>

Kam didn't move. "This is my operation, Kelly."

Chin kept his hand extended. "And I've been ordered by the governor to look over your arrangements." He left his hand out, refusing to pull it back. "Or would you like me to call her so that she can confirm her orders to you? I'm sure she'd appreciate the interruption."

That won him a frown, and the file. Chin didn't sully the moment by gloating. Instead, he moved to the table in the center of Kam's office to open the manila file and peruse the contents.

The target was Sheik Hassan al-Kazid, a visiting Afghani chieftain, here to engage in talks with a State Department type by the name of Ron Goldstein. The topics would be sensitive; Chin could tell that by the location of the talks. It wouldn't do for the sheik to be publicly seen as engaging in clandestine talks with American officials, so the meeting would occur on 'Canadian soil', so to speak. It was all propaganda, of course, but that was half of what the politicos found fun. It didn't matter if the public bought it or not. It just had to look good for the history books.

The Honolulu police department had been tasked with ensuring that the Canadian vessel remained undisturbed during the visit. The sheik had his own entourage of people to tell him how wonderful he was for breathing, as did Goldstein. It looked as though someone wanted to encourage a better coordinated Afghanistan, and that several someones were convinced that Sheik Hassan al-Kazid was just the man to help bring that plan to fruition.

So far, so good. This wouldn't be an easy operation, but Lt. Kam was no slouch at planning. The man had already identified where the sheik would be spending the night, where he would be eating, where he would be spending his leisure time while in Hawaii. Chin wouldn't have been surprised to see that Kam had even set out a schedule for which of al-Kazid's wives the sheik would be sleeping with each night.

There were several danger points, each of which Kam had targeted. Meals were one such: daytime dining would occur either in the hotel suite—no problem there. Kam already had troops stationed at either end of the sealed off corridors—or in easily defended official buildings. Dinners, however, would be the challenge, since the sheik has expressed a desire to partake of some of Hawaii's tourist attractions. The second night's dinner wouldn't, though. It was scheduled to be held aboard the Canadian vessel _HMCS Newton_, a state affair so that the various players on the world stage could work out some sort of deal that would supposedly benefit everyone that mattered to the United States and its allies. As a Canadian ship, it was considered Canadian territory, so that the world could legitimately say that the sheik hadn't been strong-armed into acquiescence by American interests.

Not Chin's problem. No, Chin's assignment was to look over Kam's arrangements for security to determine if they were adequate. If they weren't, then Five-0 was to intervene and fix it so that the sheik would go home in one piece, clutching whatever documents the US State Department wanted him to clutch.

With Kam's attitude and Steve McGarrett still out on the open seas, interventions would be tough. Chin was grateful to see that the plans for security looked good. There were a couple of spots here and there that Chin might have chosen another option, but those were a matter of opinion and Chin wasn't about to object unless he found more evidence to suggest that his own thoughts were clearly better than Kam's.

Besides, there wasn't much time to change Kam's arrangements, even if Chin had found something objectionable. The sheik and his entourage were due into Hawaii in a couple of hours, and Chin would need to hustle to arrive at the naval airbase before Hawaii's newest guests.

* * *

><p>Kono could see all of twenty feet beyond the dock house, and that didn't get her even to the end of the pier. Even using binoculars didn't help to pierce through the gray morass of raindrops.<p>

_Steve is out in that, and Danny. They should be back by now. They should be answering my calls on the radio. Steve should be pulling some hare-brained stunt of physical prowess to get them back to the dock, just because he could, and Danny should be sniping at him for taking reckless chances._

Neither scenario was happening. Kono glanced at the clock on the wall, the one that indicated what time it was here in Hawaii, and the equivalent time in Los Angeles, New York, and Tokyo.

There were telepathic waves between Kono and her cousin, she decided, for Chin chose that moment to call. "They back?"

"No," Kono replied, unable to keep the fear out of her voice, knowing that Chin already knew the answer to his question. If the pair had returned, Kono would have already called him.

Chin sounded as though he'd already worked out the plan of action in his mind. "Call Commander Lopez," he ordered. "Let him know. See what he can come up with. Remind him that Steve and Danny have information, and that we don't know what it is; that will get him moving for sure."

"Okay—" Kono started to say when another call announced itself. "I'll call you back. It looks like Lopez is on the same psychic wavelength." She switched calls. "Commander Lopez?"

"They in?" The commander didn't bother with pleasantries, or even wasting time inserting a verb into his question.

"No, and I can't raise them on the radio."

"I don't like that."

As if Kono was just overjoyed—_not_. "Can you start a search?"

Kono could hear the frown over the cell call. "Not in this weather. My men wouldn't be able to see ten feet in front of their noses."

"Radar?"

"Won't cut through the mess." Lopez summed it up. "I won't be able to start a search for the next several hours, until the storm clears." He tried to put the best possible spin on it. "Officer, I've known Steve McGarrett for a long time, and he's one of the best damn SEALs I've ever worked with. He'll get them through."

"Absolutely," Kono agreed fervently.

If only her heart felt the same way.


	3. Steven, This Is All Your Fault

Abandoning his partner was something that Detective Danny Williams wasn't able to do. His legs felt as though cement shoes were weighing him down and the jagged piece of the _Sucker Punch_ to which he was clinging had finally taken on enough water that it was no longer going to float. He let go of the makeshift life buoy and crooked his arm around Steve's neck, trying to keep the man's head above the crashing waves. Was the man still alive? At this point, Danny hadn't a clue. Steve's body was cold and lifeless, but the water was just as cold and it was washing away any sign of fresh living blood that might be oozing from the nasty blow that had lacerated Steve's scalp.

He kicked his legs, and was rewarded by moving forward that much more toward a dark line that might or might not be land. Of course, the waves moved him backward just as much, but there was hope.

Hours. Hours, it seemed like, then he felt something solid underneath his feet, something that didn't feel like a fish. Danny forced himself to take a tighter grasp on the body that might or might not be a corpse and stretched out to try to take advantage of the leverage that the rising shoreline would give him.

He was really sick of saltwater right now, salt water in his face and mouth and all around him. Danny shifted his grasp on Steve to drag the man out of the surf and onto the cooling sand.

First things first: Danny felt for a pulse in Steve's neck_. Like, what am I gonna do if I can't find one? CPR for fourteen hours until somebody comes to get us?_ Then a small throb against numbed fingers told him that CPR wouldn't be necessary, and the quiet rise and fall of Steve's chest said that the man was still breathing. His boss wasn't in any condition to interact with the world in a meaningful way, but he wasn't dead. Danny gave thanks for small miracles.

It was still gray all around him, rain pelting them both. Snippets of survival information nudged at him: shelter. They needed shelter, and a way to stay warm.

No way at the moment to tell just exactly where the hell they were. They could be on one of the private beaches of The Big Island, or they could have landed on one of the small atolls that no one besides the natives had ever bothered to name. Danny couldn't hear any sounds of civilization, and he feared that this was one of the deserted islands that people would camp on—in better weather.

No cabins in sight, and certainly no hotels. Whatever. That meant that civilization was far away, and that meant for the moment one Detective Danny Williams was on his own.

It was cold and raining. Danny figured that getting them out of the rain would be a pretty good start toward improving the situation, and it looked as though the goal would be able to be achieved, unlike some of the unrealistic ones such as a hot shower and a bevy of pretty nurses to take care of his partner's dented head.

Danny looked around. There were palm trees and brush some twenty yards away, both things that he could use to build an impromptu lean-to. It wouldn't be perfect, but it would be better than freezing in the remainder of the storm. A fire would be nice, but that would have to wait for better weather.

Danny hauled himself over to the brush, leaving his partner sleeping on the wet sand high above the water line, suddenly fearful that the tide was coming in instead of going out. He'd have to keep an eye on that, he told himself. There was plenty of foliage and vines, and he dragged the vines into position to tie the branches into a makeshift roof. A few more fronds to make the thing as waterproof as possible, and he was ready to pull Steve McGarrett under his new roof.

_Never thought watching all those survivalist shows on lonely nights would come in handy._

* * *

><p>Neither Chin nor Kono could handle staying back at Five-0 headquarters while the storm still raged. They were ostensibly going over Kam's plans for protecting His Royal Sheik-iness, but their attention was really on the man who had set up a makeshift communications command center in this small dock house where the <em>Sucker Punch<em> spent its days when not on the open seas.

Kono dragged her attention back to Kam's plans, realizing that she was going over the same material for the third time and it hadn't changed yet.

Chin recognized the problem, grimly acknowledging his own lack of attention. "This is not happening, coz."

"Yeah." Kono slumped onto her stool, staring at the broad back of Commander Lopez who was working over the portable comms board that he'd brought. "We can be grateful that the sheik isn't coming in for another day. We need to get our act together before we can do this."

Lopez seemed to realize that he was the focus of their gaze. He turned around, his grim expression saying everything that really needed to be said.

Kono couldn't help but torture herself. "Nothing?"

Lopez shook his head. "Nothing—wait a sec," he broke off, listening to the earwig. "Say again?" He held up his hand to forestall any questions from the Five-0 team members. "How big?" Another pause. "Anything else? Right, got it. Keep up the search, and up the resources once the storm passes through. Out." He turned to the other two, the dismay on his face clear. "My people salvaged a large chunk of yacht on the open seas, grabbed it just before it went under. They're pretty sure that it came from the _Sucker Punch_. There was some wording with an S and a U, likely from the hull."

That was it. Game over. It hit Kono like an ice pick to the gut. The yacht had fallen apart in the storm, and Kono's team mates were now just so much fish food. Danny's little girl was going to grow up without her father. Life was just so damn _unfair_—

Lopez hadn't finished. "The edges of the salvaged piece are jagged, not like they'd broken up in weather, and there are some blackened spots that hadn't washed away. My people think it looks suspicious."

"Suspicious?" Chin seized on the word. "Suspicious, how?"

"Don't get your hopes up," Lopez warned. "My people think that it looks like the engine blew out, only the chunk they have is from the bow, toward the front, rather than the stern where the engine was located."

"Which means that any explosion that occurred wasn't from the engine." Chin was quicker to put the two pieces together. "You suspect that there was a bomb on board?"

"Possibly. The only other explanation would be for someone to aim a torpedo at a pleasure craft, and that's not likely to happen in these waters. We patrol pretty heavily here."

Kono grabbed the idea. "But the buyers were buying a torpedo from Nycroft. These are some serious people, and they're likely to have some serious weapons of their own. Maybe they grabbed Steve and Danny, and blew up the yacht."

"That's a better possibility," Lopez acknowledged. "Any skipper who's crazy enough could sail a small craft in, make the pick up along with nabbing the _Sucker Punch's_ crew, and sail back to shore ahead of the storm."

"Not out to sea?" Chin started to ask, then corrected himself. "No, they'd be heading into the storm themselves. They'd have to put back to port. They'd have blown up the _Sucker Punch_ to keep anyone from finding any evidence. Any wreckage would be put down to the storm. Nycroft might have even planned it this way, to disappear and be presumed dead."

"But, Chin," Kono objected, "Danny said 'sub' in his last transmission; remember? A sub could submerge and escape the storm underwater. Right, Commander Lopez?"

Lopez nodded slowly, considering. "That could have happened."

"Which means that Danny and Steve could be aboard that sub right now!"

"Not so sure about that," Lopez butted in. "Look at the facts: if it really was a sub that made contact with McGarrett, then it would have to be one of the stealth mini-subs to escape our detection. Those things are tight quarters. It's doubtful that they'd take on any passengers. They wouldn't have room."

"Doubtful, but still possible," Kono pushed.

Chin wasn't having it. "Sure, anything is possible, Kono, including the possibility that Steve and Danny managed to ride out the storm for the past four hours and ended up on one of the tiny islands to the northwest." He snorted, covering his fear with anger. "We might as well wish for The Great Nene Goose to have come and plucked them from the ocean to fly them to safety."

"My people are already searching as best as they can through the storm, and, come the end of the storm, we'll have boats in the water and search planes in the air," Lopez promised, seeing the beginnings of an argument.

"And the sub?"

"Sonar," Lopez replied. "If there really was a mini-sub in these waters, you can be damn sure that the US Navy wants to know about it."

* * *

><p>The first thing Danny realized was that he felt miserable. The second was that he was awake.<p>

There was a warm spot against his chest, and reality hit him with all the tenderness of the storm that he had just survived. Danny looked around; his makeshift shelter had done its job by keeping the majority of the rain off of him and his fellow castaway, and the warm spot on his chest was where he'd dragged Steve up against himself in an effort to share body heat. His clothes were still damp, though they showed signs of drying out.

Warmth; that meant that Steve was still alive and Danny followed up by feeling for a pulse in the man's neck. Yeah, there it was, slow and steady. As if in response to the touch, Steve opened his eyes. His lips parted, almost able to say something.

"Steve? You okay?"

Not a word in response. No, his boss only grimaced in pain, and his eyes drifted shut.

Concussion? Probably. Like there was something that Danny Williams could do about it. The man wasn't going to wake up until he was ready and Danny had no say in the matter. Best thing he could do would be to somehow find help. Danny carefully shifted his boss off of him, arranging the tall and lanky frame more comfortably on the warm sands of the shoreline, hoping that he'd find him safe when he returned.

Danny got up and stretched, shaking the sand off of his clothing and doing a thoroughly inadequate job. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, and the waves of the Pacific Ocean were as calm as if they'd never heard of such a thing as a storm. Danny snorted; for this, he had to come to this supposed tropical paradise? What the hell had ever possessed his ex to drag Danny's little girl here so that he had to come trotting after?

No use complaining about it now. If one Detective Danny Williams was _very_ lucky, he'd make it out of this little adventure alive with his boss grateful that Danny had agreed to participate. What was it about Steve McGarrett that everything the man was involved in turned into a survival ordeal? If he ever got out of this one, he'd grab Grace by the hand and take her back to some place civilized. The Sopranos might be sharks, but at least they were on _land_.

Trees. Palm trees, coconut trees, and a bunch of other trees that he couldn't—and didn't want—to identify, all firmly planted in sand and waiting to topple over onto him. What else could go wrong?

Danny would find out. There wasn't a sound that suggested civilization, and a few steps in every direction proved him right. Most people thought of Hawaii in terms of the major inhabited islands, and forgot that there was a bunch of little atolls that barely poked their heads above water. This was one such; it had a beach to die for and would make great camping overnight—not that Danny was into that, but hey, somebody had to keep the industry going—but for someone in Danny's situation it left a lot to be desired. Communication, for one thing. Food would be nice. Danny had no doubt that Super SEAL over there would be able to make a meal out of sand worms and palm leaves but Danny liked his food out of a box and nuked to provide a little warmth.

Food, water, shelter: the basics of survival. Danny had already done something about shelter, not that it came close to even the little hole in the wall apartment that he lived in, but it demonstrably had kept the rain off. Food and water came next, along with figuring out how to call for help. Cell phone: gone. Pay phone: not on this rock. Smoke signal? That had half a chance of being spotted, but it meant that Danny would have to figure out how to build a fire from scratch.

Tinder; that's what all the survival shows talked about. Danny fetched some of the brush around him—he had plenty of that—and pushed it into a small pile with a few rocks around it to keep the blaze contained. What next? Right; sharp stick that he would rub into another small piece of wood. If he spun the thing fast enough, according to the experts, he'd have a merry little fire in no time.

Two hours later, there was nothing merry about the situation. There was no fire, either.

* * *

><p>Kono scowled at the schematics of the protection plans that Kam had developed. "I don't like it."<p>

Chin agreed. "Yeah, I thought about that. What do we do about it?"

Kono considered. "If we put our lookout here, instead of here, we can cover this back alley as well as these two blocks." She pointed to the spots on the map that she'd identified. "You think Kam will let us change his plans?"

"He'd better," Chin said darkly. "The governor put us in charge of reviewing them, and beefing them up."

"I'll talk to him," Kono offered. "He's not your biggest fan, cuz."

"You do that." Chin was clearly not in the mood to fight. He looked out through the window at the rosy glow of the sun edging up over the watery horizon.

His thoughts about that were also not hard to read. "They'll find them," Kono said.

"Really? It's been more than twelve hours since we've talked to Steve and Danny."

"People have been found after a couple of days." Kono refused to give up hope. "They could still be out there, floating on a raft."

Lopez moved in on them, catching the end of their discussion. "She's right, Chin," he said evenly, though Kono could hear the doubt in his voice. "We've found people in the drink after days, even a week or two, hungry and thirsty but alive."

"So you think that you'll find them?"

"I think it's too soon to give up hope," Lopez returned, catching and holding the man's eyes. "I've got an even dozen boats in the water, I've got techs on land doing sweeps, and I expect to have jets overheard just as soon as it's light enough to see. I've got my experts calculating the direction of the drift from that area, so that we can narrow down the search area."

"You can't keep it up."

"I can keep it up as long as I need to," Lopez said. "Detective Williams said the word 'sub', and in these waters that's more than a little alarming, Detective Kelly. I'm charged with keeping these islands safe, and having a non-aligned or foreign submarine within our territorial waters can be considered an act of war. It's for damn straight that I'm going to be hunting them down with everything I've got, and it's not just because Steve McGarrett is a friend." He indicated the files in front of the two. "You keep working on your protection detail; that's another piece of protecting this country, and leave the search and rescue to me. If anyone can find them, it will be the United States Navy."

* * *

><p>Danny cast worried eyes over his boss, covering up with annoyance. "You ever gonna wake up in there? The sun is up and it's getting hot. I could use some help, here."<p>

Steve groaned, but there were no words. The lean body didn't move from its spot in Danny's makeshift shelter, shaded from the emerging sun.

Still, Danny was encouraged. It was more than he'd heard from the man since landing on this rock and how small it was, the noise was an improvement over the past twelve hours.

He pushed his luck. "You do realize, Steven, that this is all your fault?" He waited for a response.

None was forthcoming. Steve licked his lips, searching for moisture, but there were no words.

"I don't suppose you have any death-defying, miraculous ways to create a sanctuary of fresh, non-ocean type water?"

Thirst hadn't done it, but a snarky remark got through. "What…happened…?"

Okay, simple questions wouldn't get him anywhere, but appealing to the man's professional survival skills would. Danny made note of it. He leaned over to speak softly into Steve's ear. "I hauled your ass out of the water, after you got us blown up."

"Did…not…"

"Yeah? If it hadn't been for you, I'd be lying on the beach and watching Grace turn into a fish. Instead, I got you." Danny sat back and got serious. "You remember what happened? You remember going out on Nycroft's boat to sell a torpedo?"

"Sell…a torpedo…?"

_Crap_. It was sounding more and more like Steve had gotten his brains scrambled along with his concussion. Danny tried once more. "You don't remember a little explosive device that they tagged onto our hull? A big mother of a storm? None of it?"

"Don't…remember…a thing…" Steve faded off, his eyelids closing of their own accord.

"Steve?"

Not even a groan this time.

"Steven, a little help, here? I could use some of those brains of yours to tell me how to get us off this rock."

Hah. Danny could use the help, but it didn't look as though he was going to get any. He sighed, rocking back onto his heels. _Might as well see if this rock has anything to eat._

* * *

><p>One good thing about protection detail, Chin reflected, was that he wasn't required to make nice to the visiting dignitary. He didn't have to dress up, he didn't have to shake the man's hand, and he didn't have to mouth pleasantries that he really couldn't care less about. What he did have to do was to skulk around in the background looking grim so that would-be assassins got scared off.<p>

Looking grim was not difficult. His eyes felt gritty with lack of sleep, not that he'd ever admit that to Kono, and certainly not to Lt. Kam. It had been a long night watching the tall storm waves turn into a glassy smooth ocean, waiting for the radio call that never came to tell Commander Lopez that two bedraggled Five-0 team members had been found, wet and tired but safe. _Steve, where the hell are you?_

They split the duties: Kono kept vigil at Lopez's side, watching and hoping for word about Steve and Danny, while Chin handled the protection assignment that the governor had given them. Chin didn't envy Kono her portion; at least he had work to occupy his thoughts. It kept the inevitable horror at bay.

Chin deliberately dismissed his team mates' plight from his mind. Sheik Hassan al-Kazid had successfully disembarked from the naval jet that had been assigned to ferry him half way across the world, and was now taking up residence in the King's Palace Hotel, in the suite reserved for people too important to pay the bill themselves. No, the Federal government was picking up the tab for this one. It was their party, and they were in charge of everything but security. That, they delegated to the locals.

The sheik had come alone for this one, alone meaning 'without the wives and kids'. Kam's files indicated that the man had a mere two wives, was in negotiations with another sheik to acquire wife number three, and already had six kids. Not important right now; what Chin needed to cope with were the six entrances to the building. Kam had stationed men at each of them, including the basement entrance where the help and the contractors brought in things such as food and flowers. Chin himself had done a second inspection on the flowers that were stashed in the sheik's suite before allowing them to be placed on the teak coffee table in the middle of the room. Likewise, he'd selected one of the Danish sweet rolls to test for poison—hey, it had been a long night and the day didn't look like it was going to be an improvement. The coffee, too, seemed as though it might be a good spot to dump a load of arsenic. Chin made certain that no one would die from chemical additives in the coffee-maker in the kitchenette to one side of the suite. It tasted good.

Chin scanned the suite where the sheik would be staying. Clearly high-end: heavy velvet drapes that had been recently cleaned, and that was in this room alone. Chin had already been through the bedroom with its king-sized bed and its closets the size of Chin's living room. There was nothing nefarious in that room, not even so much as a listening device. That surprised Chin—he would have thought that _someone_ would be listening—but there was always the possibility that the communication from the manager to the underling hadn't occurred the way it was supposed to. Not Chin's problem. Someone else could take the heat for it, and Chin just wanted this job to be over so that he could go back to searching for Steve and Danny.

Not that there was anything he could do for the pair. No, the only people in a position to do any looking were Commander Lopez and the Navy, maybe some of the Coast Guard.

Chin _again_ pulled his attention back to the job at hand, mentally chastising himself. There was too great a chance that he would allow something to slip by him if he continued with this train of thought. The only thing that made him feel any better was that if he had dumped this job onto Kono, she'd have been even worse. His rookie cousin hadn't yet had the opportunity to develop the ability to distance herself from tragedy—not that Chin was any shining example, at the moment.

Chin returned to the main sitting area, admiring the view through the tall window. The sight included the ocean, now bright and gleaming in the daytime sun. He could count no few than a dozen boats racing across the waves, half with sails and the other half containing strong backs with paddles, using native Hawaiian gear. There was another building, another wing of the hotel, that cut off a quarter of the view, but there was still enough view left to make this a very pleasant, and _very_ expensive, room for the sheik. The man might even like it if he came from an arid part of the world. This would seem exotic to him—

Chin stopped. _If I were a sniper_, he chanted to himself…

_If I were a sniper, I'd rent or even pick the lock to get into a room in that second wing. I'd set up a tripod with a damn good scope and I'd wait for an opportunity when Sheik Hassan al-Kazid was in residence. I'd wait for the man to walk across the window, right into my line of sight, wearing nothing but his skivvies and a pair of glasses. I'd have to be a good shot, but if I couldn't make this shot I wouldn't be in this line of work._

That was it. That was the flaw in Kam's plans. Fortunately, Chin had picked it up early so that he could do something about it.


	4. Yuppie Water for Castaways

Commander Lopez glanced at Kono. The Five-0 officer was watching him with every ounce of her being, and he ignored the little commander voice in the back of his head that told him that further searching wasn't going to turn up anything. "No, keep going. Fly the search pattern again. They could be pretty small against the waves. We'll keep it up for a while longer. Another twenty four hours." He signed off before any of his men could question his decision—or his sanity.

Kono wasn't fooled. "It's time to give up, isn't it?" Her voice was flat.

Commander Lopez tried to lie, but the words wouldn't come out. "There's still a chance—"

Kono did it for him. "I know. There are stories of people living for a week or more in life rafts, dolphins swimming people in to shore. You and I both know that those happen once in a decade. The chance of survival goes down dramatically after twenty four hours."

"Steve McGarrett—"

"—is probably one of the best there is, but even he can't fight Mother Nature," Kono interrupted. "Don't ask for false hope, commander. Steve and Danny deserve better."

"We'll keep looking—"

"Right. Their bodies might wash up on the shore, or turn up in some shark's belly." Kono deliberately turned out to face the waves lapping gently against the dock. Motes of sunlight danced off the water. "I'm not doing any good here in this dock house, commander. Put me up in one of your choppers with a pair of binoculars. I'll be an extra pair of eyes."

Lopez started to object—Kono, although a cop, wasn't military. Then he changed his mind. "You got it."

* * *

><p>Danny looked disgustedly at his partner still sprawled underneath the makeshift canopy, covering his fear with annoyance. Steve had awoken twice more, and neither time had given Danny any hope. Steve's brains continued to demonstrate all the coherence of chocolate pudding, courtesy of the mine that had blown up the <em>Sucker Punch<em>. Danny snorted quietly to himself. Yeah, that was some sucker punch, all right. It would also be the last time he allowed his newest partner to talk him into an asinine scheme like this. _Yeah, right. Isn't that what you told yourself after the shark incident?_

Danny sobered. That prediction might be all too true, if Danny couldn't get them rescued from this rock. They had no food, no fresh water, and the shelter that Danny had lashed together wouldn't do much against another storm like the one that had helped maroon them here. Death was more than just a glimmering in some shark's eye, right about now.

Danny glared once more at the sticks in his hand. The survival experts made it look so easy: rub a couple of sticks together, blow on a little tinder and _voila!_ A new fire was born, suitable for toasting marshmallows. Danny sighed. Give him a box of matches any time. Better—a gas grill that turned on with a flick of a switch. Couple of steaks sizzling, slathered with barbeque sauce.

He crawled to his feet, and couldn't help but glance worriedly at his partner. Steve wasn't going anywhere, but Danny needed to. If he couldn't manage a fire, he at least needed to hunt for some fresh water, or maybe even some coconuts for food. This was an island, wasn't it? It was supposed to have coconuts, assuming they hadn't all floated away in the storm. In fact, there was one right there, tucked underneath some bushes, hoping that Danny wouldn't see it. Danny retrieved it and, using a fist-sized rock, managed to crack it open.

Bingo, first try! He tasted the liquid inside, finding it too sweet but deciding that it didn't matter. It wasn't sea water, and it was wet. If the ancient natives could make a meal of it, so could he and so could his partner. He toted the coconut shell over to Steve. "Yo, Sleeping Beauty. Time to wake up. Lunch time."

A grunted mumble was all that he got in return.

Danny wasn't discouraged. He slipped his hand under Steve's neck, lifting his partner's head into a drinking position. "If I were you, I'd wake up. This might not be coffee, but it's not salt water." He touched the man's lips to the makeshift bowl, letting a couple of drops hit.

It worked. Steve automatically reached his tongue for the moisture, instinctively seeking water. His eyes opened, confused. He blinked. "Danny?"

"Take a swig of that," Danny urged. "It's yuppie water for castaways, wet and it didn't come directly from the ocean."

Gone in two swallows. Steve licked his lips, searching for every last molecule. "What…?"

Danny sighed. "Brains are still rattling inside that thing you call a head, aren't they? Why am I not surprised? I've always said you have a screw loose. Here, eat some of this." He broke off a chunk of the coconut meat, offering it to his partner. "See if you can keep that down."

"Where…?"

"You writing a newspaper article? Why, how, and when come next. Let me remind you, Steven, that newspapers are on their way out. It's the internet now, or hadn't you realized? Oh, wait—I forgot," Danny added sarcastically. "No internet in this hotel. This may be a hotspot, but this hotspot is better for a tan than a wireless connection. No roof. No room service. No bar in this hotel. No noisy ice machine across from the room. No rooms, either."

"How 'bout…we blow…this joint…?"

As a joke, it was one of the worst Danny had ever heard but it cheered him immensely. If his partner was capable of attempting humor, it boded well for his eventual recovery and that was a major step forward. Danny pushed his luck. "Love to. You got any more hare-brained ideas on how to get us killed?"

Steve blinked, trying to force addled wits into cooperation. "Where are we?"

Egad, an entire sentence. More evidence of recovery. "Beats me. We washed ashore here. Look familiar?"

Steve flicked his eyes over the sandy beach and out to the waves beyond. "No. How'd we get here?"

"Still not remembering anything? Let me refresh your memory for the umpteenth time," Danny told him. "You dragged me onto a boat for a meet and greet with a bunch of thieves, only it turned out that they had more backing than anyone thought. They showed up with a damn submarine, and then they blew us out of the water after taking possession of a United States Grade A torpedo. Sound familiar?"

Steve blinked. "No."

"How about this for Chapter Two? We end up washed on the shore here, courtesy of a monsoon, with no way to let anyone know that the torpedo which you and I just sold to the underworld Black Market is destined to be aimed at a ship somewhere in port. The _Einstein_ or _Newton_ or _Smith_ or some such dead guy crap." Danny shifted his grasp on his partner, wishing the man was more alert.

It seemed to work. Steve grasped the urgency of the situation. "We need to get the word out," he said, as if Danny hadn't figured that out for himself. He looked around once more, wincing as the sun hurt his eyes, and his head. "Signal flares."

"Down with the ship."

"Radio."

"Likewise."

"Food? Water?"

"You just tasted it, partner."

Steve licked his lips once more, recognizing the flavor of raw coconut in his mouth. "Yeah. No way to call for help?"

"Not unless you got a spare cell phone in your pocket that I didn't find when I looked."

Steve's eyelids were getting heavy once more. "Gotta…get…help…" He forced himself to stay awake for more instructions. "Look around. See what you can salvage—bottles, cans, plastic." Danny's partner managed a weak grin. "I'll get us out of this, Danny." It was the last words out of his mouth; unconsciousness took over.

Danny eased the man back down onto the palm fronds, hoping that the position wasn't too uncomfortable. Hell, even if it was, Steve wasn't complaining. "You stay right there and take a nap," he told the unconscious man. "Don't get up or anything. I'll handle this part of the job."

He stood up, looking at his unconscious partner, frowning. Regroup: things were looking up, even if the whole situation was pretty bad. Positive point one: they were both still alive. Positive point two: there were coconuts to eat. As the only thing on the menu it would get boring pretty fast, but it would keep them alive for another week or two and hopefully by then someone would find them.

That took care of two of Hawaii Five-0's team but it didn't do much for taking care of business back home. As he'd reminded Steve, that torpedo that they'd 'sold' was destined to be aimed at a ship in port to cause chaos and strife by killing a whole bunch of sailors. It didn't matter that the explosives had been removed from the nose cone. According to Lopez's people and Steve himself, any halfway competent technician could put more in as soon as he got his hands on a pound of C-4 or whatever the hell else they decided to use.

Steve was right, however. Danny needed to scavenge around the area, see what he could find that might get them out of this mess. There were plenty of things that could have washed up on this rock, maybe even some things left behind by overnight campers that they could use. If they were extremely lucky, Danny might run across a freshwater spring that they could drink from.

He stood up and brushed the sand from his pants. "Stay here," he told the unconscious figure sarcastically. "I'll be back."

* * *

><p>The room in the second wing was rented to a young couple honeymooning from the mainland.<p>

Chin wasn't buying it; at least, not yet. It would be all too easy for someone or two to rent a room, asking for 'a lovely place with a view', and set up for a kill shot. The interview with the desk clerk had been singularly unhelpful: the girl didn't remember the couple at all, or even if it had been a couple. The traffic at the desk had been brisk at the time of the couple's check-in, and as much as the clerk wanted to be of assistance it just wasn't happening.

The check-in details did little to assuage his concern. Two names—Chris Gentile and Ashley Cookston—sounded just as if someone had make them up. Which one was the husband and which the wife? Didn't new wives make a point of flaunting their new last name, either by taking it over entirely or using a hyphen?

Kam was less impressed. "Waste of time," was his opinion.

"My time to waste," Chin pointed out. "My job is to second-guess you before the enemy does."

"Then go ahead," Kam invited sourly. "Just don't expect me and mine to contribute anything. Get your partner to do it. Speaking of which, where is she?"

Where was she? Kono was pretending as though the rest of their team had a chance to still be alive. Yeah, Chin ought to call Kono for backup as he approached the rented hotel room, key card in hand, but it wasn't going to happen. As much as he needed back up, Chin realized, he needed Kono to be keeping up the one chance in a million that Steve and Danny were still alive. _How about you, Kam? What did any of my team do to you, that you don't care about a fellow cop? I can understand your dislike of me; there's a reason for that. But why Kono? Why Steve and Danny?_

"I'll call her," Chin lied to Kam, adding, "I'll let you know what I find."

"You do that."

Chin watched the man walk away, back straight, barking more orders into his cell to the rest of the protection detail. Okay, so the man was only doing his job. Be fair; would Chin himself appreciate someone assigned to look over his back? Especially someone with Chin's history?

This was not getting the job done. Chin didn't relish the thought of searching a hotel room without back up, and it was not going to come from Kam. By rights, Chin ought to pull Kono away from her vigil.

That too was not going to happen, although Chin would split the difference. He pushed his speed dial. "Kono?"

"Nothing yet." Kono's voice was dismal, assuming that he was calling for an update. "I've got a date with a chopper pilot. I'll be in the air in five."

"That's good." _Lie_. The best they could hope for was that two dead bodies were floating somewhere near the surface so at least the remainder of the Five-0 team could have closure. "Listen, I've got something I need to check out, and I ought to have back up."

"Can't Kam—"

"Not helping," Chin told her, "not this time."

Dully: "I'll cancel my seat; I'll tell Commander Lopez. I'm not really supposed to be up there, anyways."

"No, don't do that. All I want you to do is to stay on the other end of my phone," Chin said. "I'll let you know what I find, as I find it."

"We're not supposed to—"

"There's a lot of things that cops aren't supposed to do, cuz," Chin cut her off. "Accepting rides from military pilots are only one of them, and investigating without back up is another. Besides, you have a better idea?"

"No. Are you sure—"

"I need to move now," Chin rationalized. "It would take you, what, twenty minutes to get here? Thirty?"

"Fifteen, tops."

"Too long. Hey, would I be suggesting this move if I weren't certain that it was safe?" Chin tried to sound positive. "You just listen in. If I get shot, you can notify Kam that he was wrong about this hotel room, okay?"

"That isn't comforting."

"Well, how about this? I'm just outside the room, and it only took me sixty seconds and an elevator ride. You just listen in, okay?"

"Be careful, cuz."

Careful? They were all getting infected by Steve McGarrett in their lack of adherence to that concept. Chin rapped on the door. The desk clerk had thought that the couple was out sunning themselves on the beach but that didn't mean that they were. The desk clerk had also mentioned that she didn't really remember them. "Hawaii Five-0. Anybody in there?"

Not a sound. No scurrying around inside, suggesting that something was being covered up, and Chin passed that information along to Kono. "I'm going to let myself in."

"Be careful," she repeated.

Chin slid the master key card through the lock, frowning as the lights remained red. He slid it through again, this time rewarded by a couple of small green lights and a clicking buzz that notified him that permission to enter had been granted by the door lock. It was impossible to be completely soundless when twisting the door knob—the handle had been designed with exactly that in mind—but neither was he about to make any more noise than he already had. He'd knocked, and he'd announced himself as a duly sworn officer of the law, and that was enough. Now it was time to see if his hunch had been right.

He eased the door open, his other hand on the handle of his gun. No need to pull it out of his holster, but Chin would be ready. "I'm going in," he whispered into his cell, blessing the small device in his ear that allowed the cell to be hands-free. Chin needed all the hands he had for more important tasks.

Empty. The room was empty of people, though not of clothing. No fewer than three exceptionally loud and tacky Hawaiian shirts had been tossed over the loveseat in the corner, with some frightening brilliantly printed shorts on the coffee table. More toiletries were likewise scattered around the room. _Must make the maids' jobs murder_, Chin thought sympathetically, _trying to vacuum around the mess_.

This, however, would be just the right way to throw off a less suspicious investigator. One look, and anyone would back away, convinced that this was just a couple of harmless but sloppy honeymooners. Chin wasn't just any investigator, and this room held the almost perfect sightline to the sheik's room. Chin could see the angle from here and knew that his instincts were dead on.

With luck, he could be in and out without the inhabitants any the wiser. Chin opened and shut the various suitcases that dotted the edges of the room, checking for false bottoms and finding none. The drawers came in for their share of the inspection, as did the rest of the room. Nothing; the couple was just as they appeared to be.

Not quite. Chin frowned, wondering what was setting off his radar.

"Cuz?" Kono was worried over his quiet.

Chin nailed it. "I don't see any women's clothing here. Only men's."

Kono clicked on that immediately. "That's odd. Any woman's hairbrush, make up?"

"Not a bit." Chin peered into the bathroom. "Only men's cologne."

"But you didn't find any trace of a weapon, right?"

"Right. If they have one, it's too well hidden for me to find."

"You could hand this lead over to Kam, let his people follow up on it."

Chin snorted. "Right. They'd check it out, right after Sheik What's His Name gets shot." He looked around one more time at the room. "No, I think I want to keep an eye on this room myself, see what this 'honeymoon' couple looks like—uh, oh."

"Chin?" Worried.

"I hear something, in the hallway." Chin flattened himself against the wall, hoping that it wouldn't be the couple whose room he had just let himself into. "Keep listening, Kono."

A soft snort returned. _As if I was going to hang up on you now!_

Two male voices, coming closer.

"Oh, look, Chris, the door is open."

"Probably the maid. I'll guess we'll just have to wait."

"Not a chance," the first voice purred. "Baby, I want you _now_."

Chin got his first look at the pair as they crossed the threshold—and stared.

The first was tall and blond, and pencil-thin. Sweat glistened across his hairless chest, with a towel draped just _so_ across his shoulders. The second was his opposite, short with a tan that sun-worshippers everywhere would swoon over. They blinked at Chin. "You're not the maid."

"Chin Ho Kelly, Hawaii Five-0." Chin flashed his badge, hoping that he wouldn't need that hand to reach for his gun. If that happened, he knew, the badge would end up lying on the floor, spattered in blood. "Mind telling me your names?"

"Oooh, police! Chris, did you set this up?"

"Not me, baby." Chris, the darker one, peered more closely at Chin's badge. "Is that thing real? Not just a prank, from the boys back home?"

"It's real," Chin assured him sternly. "Mind telling me what your business is in Hawaii?"

Ashley—_dammit, did the man just bat his eyes?—_spoke. "We're on our honeymoon. We just got married."

Which was how Chin discovered that the pair was from New Jersey, were partners in a small boutique shop near Piscataway that was doing quite well thank-you-very-much, and had decided in a burst of emotion that now was the perfect time to throw a party and then get away from the world on the beaches of Hawaii. Betsy, the college student that worked part time in the boutique, had the week off from school and was handling the business until they returned with a buff tan. He also discovered something else.

"You know," Ashley mused, "there was that nasty man who wanted to rent the room from us. He was here just yesterday."

"He was really pretty pushy," Chris agreed.

"What did he look—"

"Not a very nice man at all," Ashley went on. "At first, we thought that he was part of the staff. Then we realized that he couldn't possibly be. He was simply too unpleasant."

"What did you tell him—"

"Told him to shove off, that we weren't interested," Chris replied. "I mean, we're here for our honeymoon, guy! You think we want to waste any of it on some dude with an attitude?"

"Did he have anything with him—"

"Although, he was rather attractive, if you like the European look." Ashley managed a coy expression. "I wanted to ask him where he got his blazer but I was afraid that it was going to be too much for me to afford."

Chin carefully didn't grit his teeth. "Did he give you his name?"

"Haven't the slightest, Officer Kelly. Is that your real last name? You don't look like a Kelly."

"I don't think he did, Ash."

"Could you work with a sketch artist, perhaps come up with a picture of him?" Why was Chin wasting his time with these two when the other half of Five-0 was floating face down in the ocean?

It worked. Their collective attention was caught like a butterfly in a net. "Oooh, a sketch artist, like the ones on television."

"It's pretty boring—" _Bright idea, Kelly, suggesting a sketch artist. What are you going to do for an encore? Bring in a psychic to magically find Steve and Danny? I'm sure this pair has one in their back pockets._

"This will be such a wonderful story to bring back! How many other people get to finger a criminal on their honeymoon?"

Groan, manfully swallowed. _I so do not need this right now_.

"Of course, I suppose we could just hunt down the business card that he gave us," Chris suggested.

Chin froze. "What?"

"He gave us his business card," Chris patiently explained, as if talking to a none too bright two year old. "Told us to call if we changed our minds."

Ashley snorted. "Like that was ever going to happen."

"It has, Ash. You remember that salesman from Hoboken, the one with the display of scarves from India? You couldn't stand them, then called him back when the store across the street put them in the window—"

"The card." Chin stepped into the discussion once again. "I need it."

"You do?"

"I do," Chin told them firmly. "Look for it."

"All right." Ashley flipped through the magazines on the desk, all screaming ads for this tourist attraction and that sun tan lotion. "What about the police sketch artist?"

"Maybe later." _Much_ later, if Chin had anything to say about it, because he happened to like Fred Ha'apuunai as a drinking buddy and wanted to keep it that way.

* * *

><p>He was maybe a mile inland, more or less. He'd been walking for more than an hour, but it was slow going and the trail kept winding around on itself. For all he knew, Danny could have been walking in circles for the past hour.<p>

He hadn't found much, either. Right off the bat he'd scored a plastic bottle that now had seawater in it instead of the water supposedly trickling down from some mountain stream, a wad of clear plastic sheeting, and he'd located a larger rusted metal bucket, but that was about it. He'd dropped those things off at their makeshift camp so that he wouldn't have to carry them, and then set out once more to see what he could find that would help them survive this little slice of life.

_Stupid survival shows_. Why hadn't he watched more of 'em? Wouldn't have done any good; Danny had seen that little disclaimer that talked about 'don't try this at home' and 'certain situations are presented in order to demonstrate'. All of that meant that the supposedly 'virgin' territory had been seeded with whatever the hosts needed to rescue themselves within the sixty minute time frame of the show, inclusive of commercials. Sure, Danny himself could build a tent in the middle of nowhere if he 'happened' to come across a tarp and a bunch of tent spikes washed ashore on the beach. He might as well wish for a portable grill with a bottle of kerosene with which to fire it up, and a cigarette lighter conveniently stuck inside with the coals.

Twigs snapped beneath Danny's feet. _At least I still have my shoes. The soles of my feet would be torn to shreds by now if I didn't_. He was making a lot of noise, he decided, knowing that Super-SEAL would be griping about that, too. Hey, Danny could be as quiet as the rest of them when it came to stalking a killer in a broken-down building in the middle of the urban jungle but there generally wasn't much call for a cop's talents on an uninhabited rock in the middle of the Pacific.

It wasn't as if he needed to be quiet. No, actually, making noise would be a good thing. It would alert any of the local denizens of the jungle that something big was coming through and that they'd better slither out of the way if they didn't want to get stepped on. Where there any snakes in Hawaii? Danny recalled Grace presenting him with a copy of her paper written on the topic, decorated with an 'A' at the top, and—like any proud father—he'd tacked it to his fridge with a magnet. Now if only he could remember what his little girl had come up with…

Right. The only snakes around were those introduced by man in the past century, so he was probably okay. Man probably hadn't bothered to introduce snakes to this particular piece of real estate, and any that were here had likely been flooded out of existence in the past twenty four hours during the monsoon. More twigs cracked beneath his feet, and he staggered as one dropped his foot into a small hole. _Better watch where you're putting your feet, Williams, if you don't want to end up with a broken ankle_, he chided himself.

He scanned the territory around him, wishing that he could find some convenient net that had washed ashore. Something like that would be helpful for catching fish. Danny had never cleaned a fish in his life, but he had no doubt that his partner had. At least Danny still had his pocketknife. He could use that to hack off some fish pieces. After all, how hard could it be to clean a fish?

There were a bunch of vines, and if he couldn't find anything better Danny would gather up a bunch of those so that he could waste his time weaving a net. Would it work? Danny wasn't about to bet the farm on that happening, but it wasn't as if he had anything better to do—

Hey! Something twinkled in the bright Hawaiian sun, and it caught his attention. Was it…?

Yes! A shard of glass, polished by the wind and rain until it shone like a diamond. Just what he needed to start a fire: something to act like a prism, focusing the rays of the sun onto something flammable. Hell, Danny would tear some fibers from his shirt to use as tinder if it would help. It wasn't as if he would ever be able to wear the thing in polite company again, not with all the rips and rents and stains that it had collected in the past twenty four hours.

He surveyed the chasm between himself and the piece of glass, and frowned. This was Hawaii, where the land had been created from lava that had hardened into obsidian—a substance which, he recalled, had been used by early man around the globe to make knives. Fall between those rocks, and he could count on a nasty scrape. There were sharp edges throughout the six foot chasm, and it would be easy to slip.

On the other hand, Danny wasn't looking forward to spending the rest of his days on this rock. For one thing, he suspected that it routinely flooded during monsoon season. For another, he was going to get very tired of eating nothing but coconuts and fish, and that was assuming that he could catch a fish or two. And last: Danny counseled himself not to forget that the jokers who bought the torpedo were intending to use it against one of the ships in port, and that was something that this whole mission had been designed to ferret out. If he could nab that piece of glass, it would go a long way toward starting a fire, and a fire would act as a beacon in the night to call for help. The Coast Guard at the least would come to investigate, and that would lead to the rescue of two bedraggled Five-0 team members.

He also needed to get Steve to some medical help. No matter what, the man's lack of consciousness suggested a pretty significant concussion if not worse, and Danny's mandatory classes in first aid weren't going to be enough to haul the man back to health. Sure, the man seemed like he was beginning to wake up, but Danny would much prefer that he wake up in a bed covered in white linens with a bunch of pretty nurses bending over him. Hell, even a male nurse who knew which end of a syringe to use would be better than sleeping on this rock.

Decision made: he'd go for it. Hell, the worst that could happen would be that he'd cut himself to ribbons on the sharp rock to bleed to death, and would that really be worse than starving to death in the middle of the ocean?

Three steps onto the slippery rocks, and Danny knew he'd chosen badly. He'd already collected two slices across the palms of his hands which were still bleeding freely, and that was just one concern. The footing underneath him was more slippery than he'd thought, and he'd thought plenty bad. Still, he'd underestimated the risk. The possibility for a fall was closer to reality; it was time to back out before he broke his damn leg. There would have to be another way to get a fire started. There was the rest of the island to search, in case someone had decided to put a matchbox into a bottle and float it in this direction.

_Time to change direction and get the hell outta Dodge_. Danny carefully felt behind him, putting one hand onto a sharp edge of a rock and feeling a slice open up once more. That was secondary; the biggest concern was that he not slip and fall. He could live with another paper cut or two. Or three or four. Or more.

Hanging onto his precarious perch, he twisted one foot around so that he was facing the way out. Now he could see where he was going and where the handholds and footholds were. He reached out to grab hold of another rocky outcropping, collecting yet another scrape but securing himself when the sole of his foot slid back an inch.

Danny froze, hoping that nothing more would slide. He was only two feet away from dirt and brush and trees that he could hang onto, but it seemed as though it was more than a mile. He chanced moving his foot forward, inwardly cheering when he was able to put his weight onto it, gaining another four inches of progress toward safety.

Another six inches, and another. Slowly Danny made his way back to safety, collecting more slices in flesh as he used the sharp lava rocks as handholds. One ill-advised move placed a deep cut into his thigh; messy but not more dangerous than that. He could live with it. Actually, he'd _have_ to live with it since the nearest first aid kit was a few dozen miles away. One step more, than another…

Danny grabbed onto a slender sapling that was trying to convince itself that it could turn the lava rock below into fertile soil through the judicious process of putting out roots. He hauled himself onto the edge of the dirt where the terraforming maneuvers were already in progress, mentally congratulating himself for getting out of a dangerous situation.

Aw, the hell with the silent thoughts. Danny said it out loud: "You made it, genius. You hauled your ass out of a tight crack." A small, finch-like bird looked at him; it was dull brown and gray, and looked like something that Steve had told him was an island bird. Steve had then pronounced its name, something that started with a 'p', and Danny had accused him of mumbling. Steve had laughed, pronounced it again, and Danny had dropped the matter. It didn't have anything to do with a case, and he could do without Steve's knowledge of everything Hawaiian.

Likewise, he could do without this bird's admiration for his prowess in getting himself out of the crevasse, although it was nice to have. Danny was covered with sweat from his exertions, and it was time to sit down. Searching the island for things to get them out of here could wait. Danny sank to one knee, hanging onto the sapling.

The change in weight affected the ground beneath him—it _shifted_. The rock below cracked, exposing more hardened lava rock under the black soil that supported the sapling.

Danny's foot slipped, heading back toward the dangerous crevasse behind him, and he clutched frantically at the sapling.

No good—the sapling's roots weren't nearly deep enough to support him. It tore loose, showering him with dirt.

Danny fell back, sliding into the deep crevasse, feeling something slice deep into his side and ripping out chunks of flesh. He kept on rolling until he finally came to a bloody stop at the bottom.


	5. Must Have Been Luck

Steve blinked.

He blinked again, taking stock of his surroundings. More specifically, he took stock of his physical condition, which was lying flat on some comfortable fronds at the high edge of a beach. There was a makeshift shelter over his head, some additional leaves and fronds bent into a passable roof that protected him from the searing sunlight of the dwindling day. The scent of salt tickled his nose, and the sound of the waves lapping at the shore was soothing, a welcome counterpoint to the lingering headache that was rapidly disappearing. Too, he felt hungry and thirsty, a sure sign that he'd been injured and was now on the road to recovery.

All well and good, but where was this road? Steve highly doubted that if he'd been injured, his team mates would have left him behind instead of heading for the nearest medical center. All of that suggested a mission that had gone terribly wrong…

Oh. Yeah. Now he remembered: Andy Lopez persuading him to get Five-0 involved in a military operation, since the faces of all of Andy's people were known. Steve then persuading the governor to allow Five-0 to play, not that it took much persuasion. The relationship between the civilian government and the Navy was pretty good even at the worst of times, and this certainly wasn't the worst.

Steve frowned. His memory got pretty hazy after that. There was a yacht, and a torpedo…and a yacht…and a torpedo…but what the hell else went on? For that matter, if this was a Five-0 mission, where was the rest of his team?

He sat up—and instantly regretted it. Someone pounded a sledge hammer into his skull.

Steve dropped his head back onto the welcoming sand, trying to tell his head that it was all a big mistake, and that he'd never do that again. Next argument: _stomach, there really isn't anything in there to toss, so settle down and pretend like you're not part of the problem_. Slowly the pain diminished, and he was able to inch his way to an upright position.

Enough of this lying around. How long had it been? Steve squinted at the sky, estimating that it was around 4:30 in the afternoon, give or take half an hour. He sighed; that gave him a point of reference, but did little good since he hadn't a clue as to how long he'd laid here—where ever 'here' was. It had obviously been some period of time, since he could see a multitude of footprints that hadn't yet been washed away by the tide. Steve looked at the prints, insisting that they give him some information. Only one size of print, which said that there was only one other person here with him. The length suggested that it was Danny. Chin's shoe size was a bit larger and Kono's smaller, and Kono would have kicked off her shoes as soon as she hit the beach.

Steve looked back at the makeshift shelter with grudging admiration. He hadn't thought that Danny could put together something like that. Sure, it wasn't up to SEAL standards, but his partner had done a better job than Steve thought he was capable of.

_Must have been luck_.

There were a few other tidbits around, a plastic water bottle, a bucket that might or might not hold water. There was a careful ring of stones where Danny had obviously tried—and failed—to build a fire. Steve frowned. Everybody thought that building a fire from scratch was a piece of cake, and usually found out the hard way that they were wrong.

On the other hand, building a fire and holding a cook-out didn't seem to jibe with either a yacht, a torpedo, or a lack of team members. Steve again wished that he could remember what had happened.

Yacht. Deserted beach. That, to Steve, spelled Man Overboard followed by a 'washed ashore'. He wouldn't have expected it to happen here in the Hawaiian Islands, but there had been a lot of things that he hadn't expected when he'd gotten home for his father's funeral. One of those things had been leading Five-0. All right, he'd take it as a given that he had washed ashore with Danny Williams, and his partner was somewhere in the bush rustling up some grub, at least until circumstances proved otherwise.

Steve sniffed. There were coconuts up and down the shoreline, if only Danny had taken the time to look for them. Sure, the taste would get boring pretty fast but coconut meat was nutritious and would provide plenty of calories. In fact, it looked as though Danny had already collected a couple and split them open for the liquid inside. Steve reached for one and dug out some of the meat from the shell. He could eat and think at the same time, and both were important.

Fresh water was a major concern. Maybe Danny went to look for a spring? It was a possibility. Steve himself had a better option: a solar still, made from the bottle, the bucket and the plastic that he found next to him. Hah—Danno had been listening when Steve had talked about some of his survival techniques. Sea water was wet, but would kill them if they tried to make it their sole source of water. A solar still was slow but didn't rely on luck to find a fresh water pond. It might be their only chance at survival, and if there was one thing that Steve knew, it was that they shouldn't count on only one thing.

Danny would be back before too long, and Steve would chide him for running off into the bush. In the meantime, he'd see about building a fire. The tinder that Danny had collected looked adequate, and there was a stone that he could use with his pocketknife to get a few sparks. With a little luck and a lot of patience, Steve would have a fire roaring by the time his partner got back. With even more luck, someone passing by the island would see the fire on the beach where no fire ought to be, and would call the Coast Guard.

Yeah, that would work.

* * *

><p>Nobody was calling this salvage, not yet. It was still a rescue, which meant that they were still looking for bodies that were breathing. Kono refused to think anything else, not even when she could all but hear the thoughts of the pilot and her co-pilot telling her that it was time to give up hope.<p>

The sun wasn't quite sinking below the horizon, but it soon would. In another couple of hours it would be dusk and then it would be dark, and finding a floating body or two in the dark water would be impossible. They'd have to return to base and try again tomorrow, and that would make it thirty six hours in the open ocean for Steve and Danny. Could anyone survive that?

_Yes!_ Kono refused to believe that Steve and Danny were dead. She pushed her binoculars closer to her face, scanning the gently rolling waves below, methodically searching for someone clinging to a broken piece of boat and waving frantically.

There—a piece of white! Kono opened her mouth to report the sighting—then closed it. Just some watery denizen, surfacing for air. A porpoise, maybe; just the right size to fool her momentarily.

It had been sixth time this afternoon alone. With a sigh, Kono turned back to scanning the waves. The chopper blades whirred noisily above her.

* * *

><p>Still nothing from Kono. Chin saw nothing on the screen of his cell phone indicating a missed call, knowing that his cousin wouldn't have made him wait if there was news, good or bad.<p>

It was getting late. Sheik al-Kazid had a dinner date on board the Canadian vessel _HMCS Newton_ in a couple of hours—fashionably late, don't you know—and the man was currently in his royal suite getting all dolled up for his date with his American counterparts.

Chin himself was going to have to hustle in order to be ready for the affair, in order to blend in. It wasn't likely that anyone was planning to aim a bullet at the sheik on board a naval ship filled with trained military men, but it could happen. A very lucky sniper could aim a bullet across the harbor. A suicide bomber could stroll on deck and take out a bunch of undeserving deckhands. The Americans weren't responsible for the on deck security—that joy belonged to the Canadians—but the plans called for one Detective Chin Ho Kelly to be oh-so-casually strolling around the docks near the HMCS _Newton_, looking for potential terrorists.

Chin hustled to his car and pulled out his 'emergency' kit, a small bag filled with toiletries, a razor, and a change of shirt. He'd stuck a formal jacket in there as well when the governor had handed Five-0 this mission, just in case he needed to attend this very event. He sighed, wishing that he'd thought to add a more presentable pair of trousers. There was going to be a lot of people wearing tuxes on board the _Newton_, and while his black khakis wouldn't exactly stand out, neither were they quite what the rest of the security forces would be wearing. On the bright side: he could move a lot better in them and they cost a lot less than a tux. Good trade off. Chin made certain that his face was neat and clean, and tossed the disposable razor into the trash.

He had a few more minutes to spare before his presence was needed, and he used them to best advantage. He pulled out his tablet, commanding it to sync with the massive table computer back at Five-0 headquarters.

Georg Denerov; that was the name on the business card that the two lovebirds in the hotel room had dug up. Chin had no doubt that it was an alias of some kind, but the question was: was this 'Georg Denerov' someone after the sheik, or just some paparazzi after a story and a photo op?

The answer popped up immediately, and Chin sucked in his breath.

Georg Denerov: known alias for Yuri Denisovitch, a suspected hit man from one of the smaller countries released when the Soviet Union splintered back into its constituent parts. He wasn't the most notorious man on Interpol's radar, but there weren't many who would mourn his passing. There were several more aliases that he used, and then a headshot of the man appeared on Chin's tablet. Chin studied the photo: it was grainy and showed Denisovitch caught in time, walking toward some crowd. The picture was likely the best that Interpol could do; international hit men tended not to stick around for formal portraits. The important thing, however, was that Denisovitch matched the somewhat scattered description provided by Chris and Ashley, and that Chris and Ashley's room had a perfect angle with which to aim a single sniper's bullet into the sheik's suite.

There was no time to waste. If Chin was right, Denisovitch would be setting up in Chris and Ashley's room at this very moment. For this one, he needed back up. It was one thing to go poking around because he had a hunch. This was more than a hunch; this was a bona fide lead with a hunk of lead at the end.

Chin grimaced. He was not looking forward to this next call. He dialed the number into his cell, and heard it ring twice before the owner answered.

"Lt. Kam."

"Kam, it's me, Kelly. Listen, I've got a possible sniper situation with a bullet aimed for the sheik's suite. I need back up to check it out."

"Get Kono to back you up. I told you that I wasn't going to play any Five-0 games, Kelly."

"Can't. She's tracking down another lead," Chin lied. "She's too far away, and this may be going down very soon." _At least that part was the truth_.

There was a heavy sigh on the other end. Chin could imagine what was going through Kam's mind: _what else can I tell the annoying Five-0 cop to get him off my ass?_

"If I'm wrong, it won't take more than five minutes," Chin pushed. "If I'm right, you can take credit for the bust of Yuri Denisovitch."

More silence, and Chin knew that Kam was weighing the odds, and the payoff. Kam wasn't stupid, and he kept up with the information that he needed to keep up with, which meant that there weren't any foolish questions coming out like, 'who the hell is Yuri Denisovitch?'

"All right," Kam said finally, "but I'm not pulling any of my people away from al-Kazid's hotel room. I'll meet you outside the elevator on your floor. Wait for me there, and be ready. I'm not spending any more time on your wild goose chase than I have to."

"I'll be there," Chin promised grimly. Wild goose chase? Not likely. Kam was just setting up the scene in case it all went bad.

* * *

><p>Danny reached for the rock, hoping against hope that the sharp edges had been dulled by the elements. His hands were already sliced to ribbons with blood trickling across his palms to make them even slicker than they already were.<p>

That was nothing. No, the main source of Danny's concern—and his blood loss—was the hole in his side that was still oozing.

He'd fallen, and gashed up against a sharp obsidian outcropping. He craned his neck around to stare morbidly at the red stain that was growing larger on his shirt that had been pressed at the cleaner's just two days ago. It was one of his favorite shirts, too; just enough worn in so that it was perfectly comfortable but not so worn down that it was showing its age.

So much for his favorite shirt. Damn hunk of rock, in the middle of the Pacific. Damn partner, who had gotten him into this mess and was likely still sleeping on the warm sand. If he _ever_ listened to another thing that Steve McGarrett said, it would be too soon.

Danny secured his hold on the sharp rock, trying to convince himself that he wasn't slicing open yet another cut on his hand and that he'd be able to pull himself out of this crevasse. Ignoring the pain, he hauled himself upward, not trusting the rocks that his feet were braced against; he had slipped too many times to believe that his feet were secure. Another inch, one more, and another…

Safe! Danny rolled over onto the flat ground above the chasm, not yet able to believe that he'd gotten himself out of the mess he'd been in. The piece of glass glittered across the river of obsidian, taunting him by being out of reach, and Danny no longer cared. They could spend another night without a campfire, and it was all right with him. If Super-SEAL wanted a fire, he could damn well build it himself out of seashells and coconuts. Danny was too busy congratulating himself on being alive. It had been close.

He ought to get back to the camp and check on Steve. He ought to. Right now, however, he didn't feel like moving. His side hurt, he was gushing blood—all right, that was an exaggeration, but still: he ought to clean it out. There were plenty of germs and stuff hanging around, and he'd heard that wounds could get infected _fast _in a tropical environment like Hawaii. His hands, too, could use some tending, and there was a slash in his thigh that hurt like a…!

Okay, he'd rest here for just a few…minutes…Then he'd go…back…and check on Steve.

Pretty soon…

* * *

><p>The glowing embers flared in response to his controlled puff, designed to feed a growing coal into fire. Steve pursed his lips, cupping the hot tinder in the palms of his hands, protecting the precious speck of flame until it gave off signals that it was ready to try living on its own. He carefully placed it in the center of the dry fluff he'd gathered from the edge of the brush, encouraging the flickers to take hold of the flammables.<p>

Finally Steve sat back on his haunches, satisfied with his efforts. The fire had caught, bright orange and yellow licks turning the tinder and small brush into an active bonfire. There was more smoke than he wanted, though he could live with that. The smoke wouldn't show against the darkening sky to summon rescuers, but if he sat close enough the bugs would get discouraged by the smoke and leave him alone.

No, what he really wanted was a blaze large enough to be seen as far away as the horizon. A quick look around had convinced him that this was one of the barely charted islands of the Hawaiian chain that was good for an occasional camping trip as long as the tide didn't come too far in. Birds and other animals that weren't tied to the ground would visit, but anything ground-bound ran the risk of drowning within a season or so. Steve reluctantly settled on a large piece of wood that had fallen over during some distant storm as his source of firewood. It wasn't as dry as he wanted, but he doubted that he'd find anything drier.

Okay, the fire was secure and not likely to die off in the next ten minutes. That gave Steve a chance to look around for more firewood, maybe listen for the sounds of a certain New Jersey native crashing around in the brush.

The fact that Danno had gone wandering off suggested that the pair of them had been on this hunk of rock for a number of hours, possibly even a day or two. The shelter that Steve had crawled out from under had a suspiciously permanent though untutored look about it, as though Danno had put it together and then reinforced the roof against the possibility of more rain after a period of time. There were a few coconuts to one side, three of which had been smashed open with a rock, but no seafood remains which was what Steve himself would have tried for if he hadn't been taking a nap.

Speaking of which, his head hurt like a—he broke it off before he could come up with a phrase that his mother would have been ashamed of.

When was Danno going to get back? Steve would have a few choice words for his partner, something along the lines of 'are you crazy?' followed by '_this_ is the way to keep us alive, city boy.'

Another thing: how did they get here? Memory was slowly returning, but there were an awful lot of pieces still waiting for Danno to fill in for him, and Danno couldn't do any filling in if he wasn't present. Steve remembered a yacht, and a torpedo, and Commander Andy Lopez figured pretty prominently in the whole affair, and then things went blank. It was clear by the look of his clothing that Steve had spent a lot of time in the ocean but for the life of him Steve couldn't remember it happening. He must have cracked his skull against something getting tossed overboard, he decided. That was the most reasonable explanation for his current circumstances.

There was more, and it was niggling at his brain. There was something terribly wrong, something more than getting stranded on this island, and Steve really wished that he could remember what it was.

It couldn't hurt: "Danno!" he yelled.

No answer. Not a sound beyond the gentle shushing of the waves lapping at the sand.

And, yeah—it _did_ hurt. The noise hurt like hell inside his skull, and if he didn't sit down soon his knees would give out and take the choice away from him.

Steve sighed again. His head ached abominably, and walking into the brush in search of his partner was _so_ not happening. The way he felt, it would be all too easy to walk past the signs of the man and spend half the night trying to find him. No, better to let Danny find his own way back. His partner wasn't up to Steve's standards when it came to survival in the sticks, but that didn't mean that the man was a fool.

Another nap, and Steve would feel a hell of a lot better. Maybe by then someone would have spotted a beacon of fire where no fire was supposed to be, and send help.

Steve McGarrett crawled back under the shelter to wait for three things: his head to stop hurting, his partner to return, and a Navy ship filled with sailors to stop sitting on their collective asses and find him.

* * *

><p>This was it. The chopper pilot had already opened his mouth four times to tell Kono that it was time to head in, that finding a pair of dark bodies in the dark ocean water at night was not realistic. Each time she'd warded off the words with a cold stare, and turned her attention back to the waves, scanning with a high-powered pair of binoculars that weren't high-powered enough to show her where Steve and Danny were.<p>

Not going to happen this time. Not even Kono's fiercest snarl could convince the pilot that she was a mutant with night vision and that the binoculars were just for show. The pilot had reality on his side—a glance at the fuel gauge said that the gas tank was getting low enough to land Kono herself in the drink. It was time to go home.

"I'm sorry," the pilot told her. That was it, this time. No request for permission to head back to base. No choice that he gave her. He simply tilted the joy stick in the other direction.

Over. Finished. Steve and Danny were gone, and no amount of looking was going to change that. If they were lucky, two half-eaten corpses would float to shore and frighten the tourists. _See what happens if you go sailing without life-jackets? No need to tell you that this was simply a military mission gone sour_.

_This wasn't even a Five-0 operation_, she thought dully. Steve McGarrett took plenty of risks and they usually paid off with more than one criminal behind bars. Said criminals often spent time in the prison infirmary, recovering from whatever bruising they'd received when they'd tried to challenge the Five-0 team on a physical basis. _Idiots. They deserved whatever they got._

Not Steve. Steve didn't deserve to end up as fish food. His family had already lost too much to crime: Steve's mother, killed by accident by Wo Fat's people after his father. Then his father, killed as Steve listened in horror. Now Steve, himself. Not fair!

And what about Danny? What about his little girl, Grace? Did she deserve to grow up without a father? Kono didn't consider Danny's ex's new husband to be Grace's father. No, not when Rachel had been ready to leave him. Grace deserved better. She deserved all the love and caring that Danny could shower her with, and that would have been plenty.

Not any more. Danny was gone. Steve was gone. Five-0 was gone—

"What's that?"

The pilot didn't hear her over the noise of the rotors above, so Kono tugged on his sleeve. "Over there! What's that?"

The pilot peered. "I'm not sure," he shouted back.

"Go check it out." It was a flickering yellow and orange light, where no flickering yellow and orange light ought to be. Great White Sharks tended not to carry torches around in the ocean.

"We're running out of fuel—"

"Check it out!" Kono insisted. "Two seconds for a fly-by! Check it out!"

* * *

><p>It was as safe as Chin could make it. The two occupants of the hotel suite, Chris and Ashley, were waiting in the manager's lounge in the back of the hotel administrator's area where they wouldn't inadvertently saunter up to their rented rooms and surprise someone there who might shoot first and ask questions later if at all.<p>

Lt. Kam wasn't giving Chin much help. The good points: Kam showed up. He even had a flak jacket draped over his arm where it would do wonders for deflecting a bullet from his bicep but very little for a slug through the heart. The bad: it was _only_ Kam. No one else, not even a rookie for Chin to put in a spot where he might not get hurt.

Still, Kam was a good officer and he'd come around once the bullets started to fly. Trouble was, Chin didn't want the bullets to fly in the first place. Taking someone down without a lot of drama came high on Chin's agenda, and fortunately Kam was pretty good in that department as well. Chin sighed; if only Kam had brought another couple of uniforms along, this might even be a reasonable operation.

Kam glared at Chin. "Let's get this over with," he growled, leaving unsaid the other half of his statement_: because I've got work to do and your fantasies are getting in my way._ He shoved his head through the hole in the body armor, pulling the straps halfway tight.

Chin likewise didn't voice his retort: _you wouldn't be here if you weren't afraid that I was right._

The carpeted corridor outside of the suite hadn't been designed for stealth, but it still did an admirable job of muffling the footsteps of the law enforcement officers. Chin tiptoed to the door, gun in hand, feeling Kam's hot breath on his neck.

This would be over quickly. They didn't need a search warrant; the hotel was more than happy to cooperate, and Chris and Ashley were more than happy to get a story that they would tell for the rest of their days. The big question in Chin's mind was how loud the click from the lock would be once he slid the keycard through the electronic gizmo.

It wouldn't get any better by waiting. With a last glance at his new best bud, Chin slipped the keycard into the slot.

It buzzed. Not loudly, but not so quietly that whoever was inside wouldn't hear it—unless he was very _very_ intent on his target.

It was a chance. Chin shoved the door open, slamming it against the wall. He threw himself inside onto the plush rug of the entryway, handgun steady in both hands. "Five-0! Hands in the air!"

He was going to sound awfully foolish if there was no one inside the hotel room. Kam would never let him hear the end of it.

Chin wasn't going to have to live through that scenario. The first bullet whistling past his ear convinced him of that. He did, however, need to live through the current one. Collecting a bullet between the eyes would make it even harder to live anything down.

He let the scene flow into him: an open suitcase with three floridly wild Hawaiian shirts tossed on top of only mildly less exuberant clothing. Charming little chocolates still resting calmly on each of the three pillows nestled across the king size bed. A gunman stationed at the window at the end of the suite.

That was what riveted Chin's attention: the gunman. A tripod was set up with a long-barreled rifle, and Chin could just bet that the gun had been aimed at a certain window on the other wing of the hotel, just waiting for the target to come into view. The characteristics of the gunman etched themselves onto Chin's consciousness: male, mid-thirties, Caucasian, short brown hair, average to large build.

Gun.

_Big_ gun.

And it was swinging around to aim right at Kam. At the range, a flak jacket would keep the bullet from passing all the way through the man's chest, but would likely allow it to lodge itself deep within Kam's heart.

"Drop your weapon!" Chin yelled, just as Kam likewise yelled, "HPD! Drop your—"

Kam never finished his words. The gunman, faster than anyone Chin had ever come up against, pulled the trigger.

_Blam!_

Out of the corner of his eye, Chin saw Kam stagger back.

No time. Chin's own finger had caressed his handgun before Chin even realized what he was doing. The gunman jerked, and Chin fired one more time.

_Secure the scene. Don't let the bastard get his hands back on his gun_. Chin leaped to his feet and advanced, kicking the rifle far from the downed gunman's hands.

The gunman didn't move. He looked dead, but Chin wasn't about to take any chances. He kept his eyes on the body, and raised his voice. "Kam?"

"Sunnuva…" Kam couldn't finish the phrase. "You get 'im?"

"I think so." The way the bullet hole in the man's chest was oozing, Chin couldn't see any better explanation. No breathing, either. That was another big giveaway. Still watching very closely for signs of deception, Chin knelt to feel for a pulse.

Nothing. The man could fake not moving, even pretend to not be breathing, but there was no way he could fake the absence of a heartbeat. Dead as a door knob, and Chin couldn't find it within himself to regret what he'd done.

It did mean that he could spare a moment to check on his impromptu partner. "How bad is it?"

Kam gritted his teeth. Blood oozed from between his fingers clenched over his shoulder where the flak jacket should have been snugged tight. Kam hadn't bothered to latch the thing closed, and he was now paying the consequences of his carelessness. "Not bad," he lied.

Right. Not the time for Chin to say, 'I told you so'. That could wait. He tabbed his radio. "Kelly, Hawaii Five-0. I have an officer down; I need assistance in room 1118, King's Palace Hotel."

* * *

><p><em>The flu. It must be the flu. Nothing else could possibly make me feel this bad.<em>

Danny rolled over onto his back, then rolled back over onto his side when his back informed him in no uncertain terms that a supine position was likely to result in pain that even general anesthesia wouldn't touch.

He felt hot. He felt cold. He felt hot and cold all at the same time, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. He was on a rock in the middle of the Pacific, a rock where no one, but no one, was supposed to be, along with a partner sleeping off a concussion on the beach. What the hell was a good Jersey boy doing in a place like this?

He supposed he ought to get back on his feet and stagger back to Steve. It was the smart thing to do. If he couldn't find any food, or reach anything with which to build a fire—damn piece of glass, right in the middle of knife-sharp obsidian where he couldn't get to it—then he might as well head back to their impromptu camp and listen to Super SEAL snore.

Danny tried to get to his feet. He did. He tried.

It didn't work. The holes that he'd gashed in his side and his leg hurt like nobody's business, and convinced him that if he tried to get up, he'd only fall back down. That, he knew, would hurt worse.

_Maybe…I'll…head back…after a little nap…_


	6. A Beautiful Sight

There were some things that ranked right up there with the best sights in the world. A beautiful sunset was one of them. The backside of a certain lovely navy lieutenant that he'd met on a long ago mission was another. The sight of a Navy vessel powering up to the beach, Kono standing in front, joined that elite group.

It was dark, and it didn't matter. The vessel had enough high powered search lights to make sunlight irrelevant. Steve stood up from where he'd been waiting under the makeshift shelter, one hand hanging onto the palm tree that was a mainstay of the shelter. _I don't need to hold onto this tree in order to stand up. Really. I don't._

"Steve!" Kono was the first to jump off the boat, despite the masculine protestations of assistance. A trio of men leaped after her, certain that dashing through foot deep salt water was going to do irreparable damage to the dainty little policewoman.

Despite his aching head, Steve couldn't help but grin. _If only they really knew what Kono could do…!_

"Steve, are you all right?" Kono didn't stop until she'd reached her boss, searching his face for signs of damage—and finding plenty. "You look awful!"

"Gee, thanks," he told her, wondering if it would ruin his image if he sat down. _Aw, what the hell. Sitting down is a hell of a lot better than falling down._

Next thing he knew, Kono was lowering him to the warm sand, Commander Lopez on his other side. Steve blinked. "Andy?"

"We've got you, Steve," Lopez told him reassuringly. "You're safe now."

"Where's Danny?" Kono pushed in. "How did you get here?"

Steve focused on the most important question. "I haven't seen Danny in a couple of hours. I think. My memory's kind of fuzzy."

"Did he wash ashore with you?"

"What happened on board the _Sucker Punch_?"

"Danny said something about a submarine. When did you see it?"

Bit by bit they wrestled the information out of him, what little he could remember, aided by the clues provided by the makeshift campground that Danny had left behind. Lopez stared into the underbrush, as if his mere glare would miraculously produce the missing Five-0 man. "You're sure you don't remember what they said, Steve? What the target was?"

Steve started to shake his head—and then thought better of the move. _It wouldn't look good if my head fell off of my shoulders._ "I remember seeing a mini-sub surface next to us. They got on board, and they looked the torpedo over." He frowned. "They must have liked what they saw, because I remember them taking the torpedo and putting it into their sub." A little thought surfaced. "They said something about a bank account. That must be how they expected to pay Nycroft."

"It fits," Lopez agreed. "Nycroft had a plane ticket to Europe in his home when we arrested him."

Kono moved on to the more pertinent part of the interrogation. "Steve, Danny talked about an American target for the torpedo. We couldn't hear what it was. Static in the storm made for too much interference."

"He did?" The stray worry surfaced again. "What did he say?"

"What was the target? When will they attack? Today? Tomorrow? Next week?" Lopez asked again, concern foremost. "This is important, Steve. What did they say about the target?"

_Pearl Harbor, all over again?_ It was only one small torpedo, but it could explode—literally—into World War III.

There was another major problem, and Steve didn't like it at all. "I don't know," he had to admit. His head hurt even harder to say it. "I remember Danny having the conversation with the bitch, but—"

"The bitch? It was a woman?" Lopez jumped on the new tidbit of information.

Steve frowned, and this time he welcomed the pain as punishment for his failure to dredge up the memory. "Yeah. Tall. Muscular. Spoke one of the Slavic languages; couldn't tell you which one."

"Could you identify her, if you saw her picture?"

"Maybe." Steve wished he could say that with more confidence. The admission sounded weak, even to himself.

"I'll do a search for known agents in this area," Kono promised, "once we get you and Danny back to civilization. I'll set up a facial recognition package for you." She automatically looked around the slender shoreline, expecting the sailors that Lopez had detailed to the job to magically appear with one small blond cop in their grasp.

Steve had no trouble following her thoughts: how hard could it be to find someone on a rock this small? It's not as though Danny was likely to go for a swim to the next nearest island some twenty miles away.

There was another thing. "I could be wrong about this," he told them, "but I have a funny feeling that we don't have much time. That the torpedo is going to hit the target within the next day or two."

"And we've already used up one day finding you." Kono completed his thought. "Would Danny know what the target is?"

"He'd better," Lopez said darkly. "There's a lot of shore on these islands. There's no way that the Navy could cover every single inch, and that's just the tourist traps and shipping ports. Without some indication of where to put the protection, this state is a sitting duck."

"I'm sure he does." Steve had no clue what his partner did or didn't remember, but it sounded good. If Danny had been healthy enough to drag all six feet of McGarrett ashore, then surely the man's head was intact and ready to talk. Come to think of it, Danny was _always_ ready to talk. This time Steve wanted to hear what he had to say. "Andy, what's keeping your people?"

"I'll find out," Lopez started to reply when a trio of sailors reappeared from the underbrush. "Gunny?"

The trio was grim. "Nothing yet, sir," Gunny reported. "Adams and MacLeod are still looking."

Steve had an unpleasant thought, and it tasted bad. "Andy, your boys are Navy. Any of 'em know how to track?"

Lopez was thinking along the same lines. "Footprints don't last too long in salt water," he acknowledged. "Steve, if you're thinking about tracking him yourself, don't. You wouldn't last three minutes on your feet."

"I don't need my feet to track a man," Steve shot back.

"You do need your head," Lopez argued, "and that doesn't work so well after you've passed out. Use what brains you have left, Commander. The only place you're going is on board my vessel to sick bay."

"I don't see a better option—" Steve started to retort when Kono quietly inserted her own suggestion.

"I'll do it." And, at Steve's disbelieving look, added, "or don't you trust what you've taught me, Steve? I've worked with you for over a year, and I know these islands like the back of my hand." She motioned with her hand. "You stay here, Steve, with Commander Lopez. I'll stay in radio communication and let you know when I find him."

* * *

><p>Chin Ho Kelly stared at the logistics of the plans that Lt. Kam had set out for the security of the HMCS <em>Newton<em> with dismay. They were thorough, they were well thought out, they were comprehensive—and they were complex enough that no one would be able to decipher them in the short hour before the guests were due to arrive for the festivities.

No one, that is, except for Chin himself, who had already gone over them with Kam when the governor had handed this assignment to Five-0. It had taken the pair of them hours, with Kam glowering at him and defying the Five-0 man to come up with improvements. Chin had made three—but it hadn't been easy and the improvements were minor. Kam knew his business.

Now, with Lt. Kam injured, the only one left to run the protection detail was Chin. Kam's second in command was a bright young thing straight out of the Academy and no more fit to lead an operation like this than Danny's little girl Grace. That meant that Chin wouldn't get released to join Kono in the search for the two missing Five-0 men.

He shied away from those thoughts. With every passing moment, the chance that Steve and Danny would be found alive grew more slim. Chin was grimly surprised that Kono hadn't yet called to say that Commander Lopez had changed the parameters of the search from rescue to recovery, which meant that no one believed that _alive and well_ was a possibility.

Chin resolutely turned to the plans in front of him. Kono would call him when there was news. In the meantime, there was an operation to be run.

The HMCS _Newton_ was a Canadian vessel. Chin had already met the captain, a no nonsense type who had earned his position of authority on sheer merit. Captain Ryan maintained the responsibility for security on board, with Canadian sovereignty over his ship, but America—in the person of Det. Kelly—had dominion over the territory in the harbor where the _Newton_ lay quietly.

That meant that Chin had the tougher job. The Canadian naval forces carefully screened everyone who came on board to meet Sheik al-Kazid before they ever set foot on the deck, and the festivities had already been coordinated by the Canadians themselves. Ryan had tight control over his part of the night's activities and he was doing a damn fine job of it. Chin had no complaints to make.

His own task was more difficult. There was always the possibility that a sharp-shooter with a long range rifle and a good eye could place a bullet into the sheik's head between the first and second course of the dinner, and Chin needed to do his best to prevent that from happening. That meant scanning the entire square mile that surrounded the harbor where the HMCS _Newton_ was docked.

Chin had already removed one threat, one that even Kam hadn't seen. Kam was now paying for his mistake—Chin knew that the man was already in surgery to remove the bullet from his arm. Kam would live and would return to work, but it wouldn't be today and it wouldn't be in time to take over this particular detail. No, this one was all Chin's.

Chin scanned the print outs that Kam had left behind, noting the various positions that could hold a potential marksman. There were a lot of them, and Chin feared that even the dozen officers on the detail wouldn't be able to monitor them all.

Speaking of which, it was time to touch base with all twelve, making certain that none had been taken out by one of those potential marksmen.

"HPD Two, this is HPD Base One. What's your status?"

"Base, this is HPD Two. All clear."

"Base, this is HPD Three. All clear."

"Base, this is HPD Four. Just cleaned out a couple of high school kids, looking for a quiet place."

Chin shoved down the grimace. Things hadn't changed much over the years, despite what some people wanted to think. He finished running through the list; all twelve officers from their various vantage points reported in with no problems.

He sat back in his chair, eyeballing the camera screens that were aimed at the main deck of the HMCS _Newton_. The guests were beginning to arrive, the men in tuxedos and the women dressed in evening gowns. White-coated serving people drawn from the Canadian ship's complement were already carrying trays of glasses filled with champagne.

Chin felt the gentle swell of the boat that he was on, swaying with the tide. This boat was a loan from the Navy—Intelligence, this time. It was the optimal place from which to coordinate the detail, and Chin wasn't about to turn down the offer. The SS _Rich Man's Dream_ was a vessel designed to pass as a millionaire's toy, until an astute observer took a closer look at the engines in the hull and realized that this particular toy could outrace a drug smuggler's speed boat. More poking about would reveal several sniper nooks disguised as portholes. The captain's quarters held a bank of sonar and other tech devices that would fill a robot's wet dreams, and the six man crew had been selected more for their ability to put a pirate into a submission hold than to look decorative for photo ops. Commander Lopez had put it at the governor's use for the occasion, knowing that such a move would do much to prevent a lucky shot from plunging the world into more chaos than it already was. The yacht came with a hand-picked crew, and one of those was a young sailor whose job was to monitor the various pieces of tech equipment on the bank of dials next to Chin. The vessel itself was manned by navy men, with Chin on board as the communications liaison between his police force, the navy, and the rest of the world.

Chin stared at his cell phone, willing it to ring with Kono's name popping up onto the tiny screen, knowing that the news would be bad. It had been just over twenty four hours that Steve and Danny had been missing, and it had once again grown dark. Kono and the entire fleet under Commander Lopez had searched the waters for two floating bodies, dead or alive, and there hadn't been any sign of them. The only thing found was some flotsam from the wreckage of the _Sucker Punch_. Chin snorted quietly under his breath. Damn good name for a boat with bad luck. Not only had it been Nycroft's downfall, the man who had started all this by purloining a torpedo from the US Navy, but it had taken down half of Five-0.

No! Chin wouldn't allow himself to think like this! Steve and Danny were alive, and he wouldn't accept anything else unless…unless…

Who was he kidding? Hope was all well and good, but Chin prided himself for his ability to look at things with a rational and reasonable viewpoint. The pair had met with a group of international terrorists in a submarine—that much was fact. They had tried to make their way back to port in the middle of a storm, and had been lost at sea. Twenty four hours of searching by the Navy and the Coast Guard had failed to turn up more than a few pieces of fiberglass hull.

Would the governor put someone else into Steve's place to head the group? Chin had no illusions that he himself could lead Five-0. He'd been cleared of any wrong-doing, but the rest of HPD still viewed him with suspicion, and that would prevent the cooperation that was needed from happening. Look at what was happening here, the way that Kam had treated him.

No. Face it: Five-0 was finished, along with the lives of two of the finest men he'd ever known. Kono could slide into a position as a beat cop, although he doubted that she'd last very long. His cousin needed something to keep that brain of hers occupied, and she'd either end up as a detective inside of a year, or quit in frustration to go work for some private agency.

_Ring, dammit!_ _Give me the bad news and get it over with!_ Chin glared at the cell phone once more before deliberately putting his feelings away into a tightly locked box so that he could do his job. He turned back to the video screens in front of him, scanning them for signs of a sniper in any of the buildings surrounding the harbor.

_Bzzt!_ His cell phone skittered along the table with the vibration, and it had Kono's name across the tiny reception screen.

_Wait! I take it back! Don't tell me that Lopez ordered the search stopped!_

Cold fingers picked up the device. Chin tabbed the connection and held it to his ear, dreading every move. "Kono?"

"We found them!"

* * *

><p>Kono slipped her cell back into her pocket, pleased that the call had gone through. <em>You never knew about these ocean rocks<em>, she thought to herself. It all depended on luck as to how far the signal traveled. It would have been better if she could have told her cousin that they had both Five-0 men in their possession, but finding Danny was only a matter of time. Worst case scenario would be waiting until the sun came back up and having a chopper do a flyover to locate the man. Knowing Danny, he'd likely be stuck somewhere in a pineapple patch, cursing and spitting. There was no way anyone could get stuck in a patch of large bromeliads, but Danny would manage it and he'd blame it all on Steve. Kono looked forward to hearing it.

This chunk of real estate looked no different than the rest of the small, uninhabited islands: palm trees, coconuts, lots of fronds that ringed a short stretch of pristine beach. Just beyond the tree line was a land more harsh with the ground formed by cooled lava. "Don't fall," she advised the trio of sailors that trailed after her, assigned by Commander Lopez. "You fall, you'll likely slice something open. Some of the lava hardened into obsidian, and the natives used to make knife blades from it."

One sailor—MacLeod, she thought—ruefully held up a hand with a makeshift white bandage tacked over it. "Already found that out, miss."

Kono considered. They wouldn't be here all that long. If she couldn't find Danny inside of an hour or two, she'd have to give it up until morning. It was already too dark for this work, but she wasn't about to stop now. "All right. But get that looked at as soon as we get back. This is the tropics, and wounds tend to get infected pretty quick out here." She switched on the flashlight that she'd grabbed from the ship, shining the light over the ground in front of her.

Yes, those were Danny's footprints, still deep and clear in the sand, headed through the brush. It would give her an easy direction to go toward but she didn't have any illusions that the prints would stay that clear. If they had, the seamen following her would have been able to find her teammate despite their lack of skill at tracking. Kono carefully looked around her so that she'd quickly be able to find her way back once she'd accomplished the mission.

Lopez was shepherding Steve onto the navy vessel that had brought her ashore, and Kono inwardly cheered. The man clearly had a concussion with an attitude; he was lucky to be alive. Her boss kept looking back over his shoulder at Kono, eager to pitch into the search for Danny, and nearly toppling himself over onto the sand each time. Lopez kept him going, ordering his men to assist Lt. Cmdr. McGarrett onto the vessel, Steve objecting every inch of the way.

No time for that. Kono had another Five-0 man to find. She broke into a trot, swinging the flashlight along the ground and easily picking out the footsteps—until they stopped.

Now it was time to bring hard-won tracking skills into play. Kono could understand how the trio escorting her had lost the trail: the ground had turned dense, and Danny's feet had no longer sunk into soft dirt.

Kono, however, had more to look for. It was slow going in the darkness, but she turned the flashlight beam onto the brush some three feet from the ground, searching for bruised leaves and broken twigs, anything that would suggest that a short blond man, bedraggled from too many hours in saltwater, had passed this way.

Her task had been made all the more difficult by the trio behind her. Unwittingly, they too had left damaged underbrush behind, and sorting out which was made by the trio and which by Danny was near impossible.

Kono stuck to her task. She had another advantage: she knew how Danny thought. He would take the clearest route, the one that promised the easiest walking with the most hope of food or rescue. She had seen the cache of detritus that he'd acquired, the plastic bottle that had washed ashore, the tin bucket that Steve had turned into a solar still. The man had ignored his most ample source of food—the sea itself—but that was because he wasn't accustomed to thinking of where food came from. Danny was likely looking for something growing that wasn't a coconut. He was also looking for a way to make a fire; Steve had shared that the fire that had drawn Kono's attention had been his. Kono could guess that Danny had tried and failed to produce a flame.

Knowing those things led Kono to shine her light onto the surrounding territory. There—that stand of trees. That would attract her teammate, and there were broken twigs along the way to bolster her decision. She headed in that direction, the trio of sailors traipsing behind.

"Did you boys check out this spot?" she tossed over her shoulder.

"No, miss. Don't think so. In the dark, I'm not sure." Gunny was only being honest.

Yeah, this looked like a place that Danny had visited. There were a couple of scraps of fabric hooked to the trees, and the color of the cloth told Kono that it wasn't from any of the sailors behind her. There also wasn't anything here that Danny would recognize to eat; there were taro leaves in plenty, along with a smattering of kukui nuts, all things that any islander would instantly recognize and the mainlander had passed over.

However, Danny wasn't here and that meant that he'd moved on. Kono located the signs that told her which way he'd gone, slowly and laboriously collecting the evidence in the illumination of her flashlight. She glanced at her cell phone for the time; she'd already spent the better part of an hour on Danny's trail. It was time to check in.

* * *

><p>Chin studied the fourth video screen in front of him, scowling. He didn't like what he saw. Granted, it was likely nothing serious—although the two kids caught on camera would beg to differ, that they were <em>very<em> serious about each other—but he still didn't like it. He tapped the comm. link. "HPD eight, this is Base One. I have two kids in a compromising position about fifty yards from the harbor post. Check 'em out. One has a duffle bag large enough to hold something worrisome."

"On it."

"Keep the radio open," Chin warned. "It's probably innocent, but if you need back up I want to know about it sooner rather than later. HPD nine, start walking toward HPD eight's position, just in case."

"HPD nine, that's a roger."

Chin let his eyes roam the secondary set of camera angles, the ones that showed the various decks of the HMCS _Newton_. There were some four hundred people on board; four hundred and eleven, to be exact, all vetted by either Canadian or American security and sometimes both. Chin could see the sheik, the star of the evening, surrounded by diplomats who were all trying to extend the hand of diplomacy and peace and whatever else sorts of enticements to do what Western Civilization wanted.

_Not my problem. Somebody pulls a knife on board, let our Canadian cousins handle it_. Chin himself had enough trouble keeping track of the harbor itself, watching the various tourists and people out for a stroll in the balmy night.

_It figures. Last night we had a storm nasty enough to drown Steve and Danny. Tonight, it's a tropical paradise_. Chin wrenched his attention back to the screens. Steve and Danny had not been drowned, storm or no, and they were going to be okay. Steve had a concussion, Kono had told him, and Danny was still busy getting himself found, but they were both alive.

He glanced at the kid who was monitoring the banks of dials next to his. Chin could tell that one of those screens was sonar or whatever passed for sonar these days on board a naval intelligence decoy vessel, but the other six screens left him in the dust. Kid? Not really. He looked to be as old as Kono, and that qualified him to drink and to vote.

However, Chin was responsible for everything that happened outside of the HMCS _Newton_. He opened his mouth. "See anything so far?"

The kid looked back at him and said in a deep voice that Chin wouldn't have expected from one so young, "No, sir. All the fishes are quiet."

* * *

><p>"Where's Kono?" Steve demanded irritably. "Why hasn't she called in yet? How long does it take to track down one man who wants to be found?"<p>

Lopez didn't bother to look at his guest. "Lie down, Steve," he ordered.

"I don't want to lie down. I want to get Danny on board, and I want to find out what the hell happened on board the _Sucker Punch_!"

This time Lopez did bother to look. He fixed Steve with a stern and warning glare. "You can either lie down, or you can fall down and then I'll have my men tie you to the bunk. Your choice, Steve."

Steve subsided, but he couldn't stop thinking about the mission. He glowered at the small squadron of seamen that Andy had under his command, all of whom looked ready to carry out Cmdr. Lopez's orders, should the commander decide to issue them. Three of the sailors looked big enough that even Steve would have difficulty in taking them out, and that was before the concussion.

Steve took on a more conciliatory tone. "Andy, you know there's something going down, and we have to find out what it is. If I can't remember what those enemy agents said, maybe Danny does. We need him, and we need him now!"

"Not disagreeing with you, Steve, but we need to wait for your Kono to find him." He paused, his own tone gentling. "Let's go through what you _do_ remember. Take it from the top again, Steve. Maybe you'll remember something that we can work with."

* * *

><p>Something flickered in the distance, something that looked suspiciously man-made. Kono tracked the beam of her flashlight over the distant cliff once more, trying to locate exactly where it had come from. Knowing that, she would be able to decide whether or not Danny had aimed for the same flicker of light.<p>

Yes, there it was. Definitely reflected light, which meant that it wasn't any sort of flame. Danny hadn't miraculously started a fire while being unable to accomplish the same feat back on the beach where he'd left Steve.

It was, though, something that would have caught the Jersey cop's eye. Gaudy, bright, shiny—all things that Danny tended to notice like a kid in a candy shop. Trail sign bolstered her confidence; Danny would have determined that the shiny object was something similar to a lens that would focus the sun's rays into starting a fire for him.

Decision made: Danny might not be up to Steve's standards when it came to roughing it in the wild, but it didn't mean that he was clueless. He would have known that fire was an essential element to survival. The heat would be needed in the cold of night, and—more importantly—it would act as a beacon to call for help, just as it had. Danny couldn't have known that Steve would wake up enough to create a fire from scratch, so he would have gone in search of something that would help.

Kono pushed the light toward the ground, assessing the terrain. Yes, just as she'd figured once she'd seen the flicker: this was high-class lava dirt. There was a few inches of dirt deposited by the wind and rain, but underneath were several sharp rocks that would be only too happy to slice open a cut or two if anyone was so foolish as to slip and fall.

It was time to get serious. "Guys," she called out to the sailors assigned to her mission, "this is going to be rough going. Put your feet where I do, and don't try for any kind of speed, not in the dark. One little slip, and you could end up looking like you lost a knife fight. Clear?"

"Clear."

Points for intelligence; not one of the sailors sounded doubting. Lopez had good men.

Now for some smarts from her own department. Kono carefully shone the light ahead of her, looking over the ground and trying to see what she was up against. The moon was only a scant quarter, but it too tried to help by casting eerie shadows amongst the sharp rocks. Kono grimaced. That kind of help she could do without.

The ground had turned from flat beachfront property to mountainous crevices, all rimmed with blade-sharp edges. Kono watched the beam of the flashlight slip over one such edge and into a deep blackness, and she resolved to avoid that area if she could. Where had Danny gotten to?

The bush signs didn't look promising. Every broken twig, every scant indentation in the dust beneath her feet suggested that her teammate had gone in exactly that direction. Like it or not, she was going to have to investigate and it wasn't going to be easy.

"Stay here," she instructed her temporary troops. "Get out the rope, in case I need it."

Gunny spoke up. "Miss, if it's dangerous, maybe I ought to—"

"Not here," Kono told him. "This is my backyard. Just wait here, until I call you."

As a surfer, Kono loved to go barefoot. Here, she was grateful that she had on heavy hiking boots. Even the small pebbles that she walked on had the potential to cut deep slices into her flesh. She steadied herself against a slender sapling when one of the pebbles tried to shift and topple her over.

Well aware of the sailors watching her every move, she inched her way to the crevice to shine the light down into the depths. The crack in the earth seemed to go on forever—no, it just seemed that way. In reality, Kono judged, it wasn't more than twenty or thirty feet to the bottom. She could see the flash of lava-hardened rock that had caused the flickering earlier. It was on the opposite side of the crevasse, in just the right position to post a siren song to anyone looking for a lens with which to start a fire. She could totally see Danny trying to make his way to get that piece of volcanic glass. All the mainlander would see was a simple crevice to climb up and down and back again.

Kono aimed the beams at the bottom of the crevice, looking for a body at the bottom, maybe one hunched over so that he could be mistaken for a boulder. Nothing. No evidence aside from the trail sign that her partner had ever been here. Maybe she was wrong? Maybe Danny, contrary to her thoughts, decided that the volcanic glass was too much trouble and had moved on?

"Danny?" she called out doubtfully. "Danny?"

No answer, not even a slender _scritching_ of rocks to suggest that someone was alive below her. Only the faint echo of her voice came slipping back to her ears.

Danny must have moved on. There was no other explanation.

_Wait._

There was a sapling, almost at her feet. It had been uprooted, and the uprooting had been done recently. The soil was still dark and fresh around the roots, suggesting that only a couple of hours had passed.

There were no large animals on this hunk of rock, nothing besides the half dozen humans. There wasn't anything that could have done this, not with the soil appearing like this—except for one slightly annoying Jersey cop.

Kono had looked deeply into the crevasse, but there were overhangs that she couldn't see around. _What if—?_

The decision was made before she realized it. "Throw me one end of the rope," she ordered. "I'm going down."

No arguments. Kono, aside from knowing the terrain, was the lightest of the four. She wrapped the rope around her waist and tied it off, knowing that it would be her lifeline. Taking a deep breath, she carefully lowered herself over the edge of the crevasse, holding onto the flashlight and shining it toward every potential hiding place.

Large boulders sprang into deep relief, sharp edges beckoning. This crevice must have been recently created, Kono realized, knowing that 'recent' meant in geologic terms only. It could be years or even decades old, and the sides of the crevice had protected the boulders from the effects of erosion. _This would make a good set for the next 'Star Wars' movie_, she thought, then dismissed the idea. _Nope. Too dangerous. Some movie star might get hurt before his close-up._

She paused, aiming the light downward, quartering the territory so that she was certain that she'd looked into every possible place that a man could be. "Danny?" she called.

What if she was wrong? What if she was wasting valuable time while Danny was heading back to the beach where Lopez would surely see him? They would have to wait for Kono to return before they could get Steve to the island and some decent medical care. She could be the cause of an hour or more delay. And what about Steve's concern that the torpedo was going to be used sometime soon? That, too—

_There._

Next to that boulder. There was a dark lump that didn't have sharp edges, a shape that looked suspiciously like…like…

"Danny!"

Now was the time for more haste. "More slack," Kono demanded from the sailors. "I see him." She slipped the flashlight into her back pocket, wanting the freedom to use both hands.

Her teammate was draped next to a rock. One hand on his face told Kono what she feared: fever. One of the rocks had sliced open a cut, just as she'd warned the sailors, and in the humid tropics it had only taken a few hours to become badly infected. Her hand, though, also told her what she wanted to know: there was a heartbeat, and shallow breathing, and Danny Williams was alive.

How bad was it? It couldn't be good. Kono wished for some water to clean off his face, to check to see what the problem was.

Well, she didn't have any water and she didn't have any supplies beyond the rope tied to her waist. All of that was back on the beach, with more on the boat that Lopez had brought.

Kono tilted Danny's face to the other side, using the flashlight to look for damage. There was none on his face, so it must be—yes, there it was. A deep gash had torn Danny's pants to shreds. More was leaking from a hole in his side, and Kono didn't want to think about what the flesh underneath looked like.

Time to get him out of here.

"I found him," Kono called up to the sailors, as if they hadn't guessed by now. "He's in pretty bad shape. You're going to have to lift him out of here."

Rustling from above. "Miss, one of us can go back for a stretcher—"

Not a country boy among them. All just as bad as Danny, thinking only in terms of modern technology. "No time for that," she told them. "I'm going to tie this rope under his arms. I need you three to haul him up to the top, and we'll carry him out. Got it?"

They were military; they knew how to take orders. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good." Kono rapidly unhooked herself, and slid the rope behind Danny's back.

He stirred, feeling the movement. "Kono?" He blinked. "What are you doing here? Where's Steve?"

Damn, but he felt hot! "I'm rescuing you," she told him gently. "We've already got Steve."

"Oh. That's all right, then." He let his head fall back against Kono's shoulder, unable to stay upright. His eyes closed with sheer weariness.

Kono finished knotting the rope in the front of Danny's chest, tugging experimentally to make certain that it wouldn't let go, ignoring the terrified feeling in her chest. "Pull him up," she yelled to the top of the crevasse.

Whatever their shortcomings, Kono couldn't fault the sailors in the muscle department. It took only moments for her teammate to ascend the steep cliff, arms and legs dangling. Kono kept her flashlight anchored on the scene, providing as much light for Danny's rescuers as she could.

"Got him!"

Kono was relieved to hear that report. Now it was time to hustle. "Two of you, take him back to the beach," she yelled up to the trio of sailors. "Leave one behind to monitor me and the rope. We'll catch up with you."

"But, ma'am—"

"Go!" she ordered. "Officer Williams has valuable information about a possible submarine in these waters. We need that intel!" _There. That ought to get them moving_. Nothing like a good fish story that happened to be true.

By the rustling overhead, Kono knew that they were obeying her instructions. Another minute, and the rope came whistling back down through the air. "Head's up!"

Kono was ready. She snatched the rope out of the air. "Got it." She wrapped it around her waist once more, snugging it tight and out of her way. With luck, she wouldn't need it. She'd clamber up the face of the cliff, in the dark, without slipping.

_Hey, didn't everybody do this daily?_

It took longer than she wanted, but Kono hoisted herself over the cliff edge, the strong arm of Gunny helping her the last few feet. Even in the dark of the quarter moon, his expression was frank astonishment.

Kono didn't have time for admiration. Sooner than she wanted, she demanded that her body handle a swift trot back the way they came.

_We really do need to hear about the submarine, Danny._


	7. Talking Points

Chin couldn't help but look at the bank of screens in front of his naval counterpart. He couldn't tell what most of them were, but he did recognize the sweep of the hand across the sonar screen.

That reminded him of the sub that Danny had tried to tell them about. There wasn't a chance in hell of a sub actually getting this close in to the harbor, not with Commander Lopez stationing his own fleet around the edge, and the sonar was proving it. There wasn't anything moving, nothing large enough to be a sub, according to the sonar. Lopez had ordered his own subs out into the Pacific to look for whatever Danny had been talking about.

He turned back to his own set of computer screens, all focused on potential sniper nests on shore. Chin Ho Kelly had enough work of his own to do, without borrowing any more.

* * *

><p>Steve McGarrett had seen plenty of injured men in his time. It wasn't the limpness of Danny's body as they deposited him onto the bunk opposite Steve's own that worried him. It wasn't the vicious-looking gash in Danny's leg that caused that icy feeling in his gut.<p>

No, it was the fact that Danny wasn't talking. Danny was _always_ talking. The man never shut up, and he was usually complaining about something that Steve had done or something that Steve hadn't done but should have.

Now his partner wasn't talking, and Steve really wanted him to. Steve really _really_ wanted Danny to start talking, anything that would tell Steve that the man was going to be all right. Talking about that damn sub that the two of them were supposed to have met with would be good, but Steve would settle for another diatribe on why dangling people over shark cages wasn't proper police procedure. Not even a harpoon in the form of an intravenous needle woke the man. Steve flinched for him as he saw the medical device being inserted through the skin.

Kono too was scared. She kept her voice low. "Did we get to him in time?"

_Do I look like a doctor?_ "He'll pull through," Steve told her, hoping that he had injected the right amount of confidence into his voice. _Hard to judge with a concussion on board._ He cautiously eased himself into a sitting position on his own designated bunk, pleased that a) he could do it without falling over and b) Andy Lopez didn't notice and order his men to tie him down. He changed the subject. "Where's Chin? You told him you found us, right?"

Kono nodded. "The governor handed us oversight of a protection detail," she said. "Chin stayed behind to do it. He let me go after the pair of you."

Steve's head started aching again. "Who's the target?"_ If the governor wanted us behind the scenes, it couldn't be someone inconsequential._

Kono agreed. "Sheik Hassan al-Kazid, from Afghanistan."

Steve knew instantly what that meant. "He's here, and ready to deal?"

"I don't know the details—"

Steve could guess at those details. "Where's Chin?"

"He's running the operation. Lt. Kam was supposed to do it—"

"Kam? The guy who hates Chin's guts?"

"Chin said it would be okay—"

"Why is Chin running the damn operation? Who dumped it on him? Kam?"

"Steve!" Kono finally broke in. "Chin is running it because Kam got shot taking down the sniper that Chin found!"

"He did?" That brought Steve up short. "Huh." He fixed an eye on Kono—the other remaining on his all too still partner. "Chin found the sniper?"

"Yeah, boss."

"Took him down?"

"Yeah, boss."

"Kam happy about that?"

"Not that I know of, boss. Probably not. He picked up a bullet in his arm, backing Chin."

Steve grunted. "Good. Kam needed to be taken down a peg or two, and Chin's just the guy to do it." He grunted once more. "Get Chin on the radio. I want to know the plans."

Lopez proved that he'd been listening to their conversation. "Do that, Officer Kalakaua, and I'll court-martial you."

"You can't, Lopez. She's not military. Kono's mine."

"My boat, my rules," Lopez replied complacently. "If you want to be useful, McGarrett, then try persuading your unconscious partner over there to talk. I still need to know about that sub." The last line wasn't joking.

Steve sobered. Andy Lopez was right; he could trust Chin to do whatever was needed for the task that the governor had assigned. Chin had done a fine job so far, not that Steve would expect anything less.

Steve—like Lopez—needed to consider the bigger picture. An unidentified and unmarked sub in Hawaiian waters took precedence. This one, in particular, had just acquired one gently used torpedo.

That triggered some thoughts, and he shared them. "It doesn't make sense. How could a sub enter these waters without you knowing about it, Andy? You run one of the most sophisticated operations around. Danny and I didn't take the _Sucker Punch_ out all that far, not beyond your sonar reach. Any sub in these waters should have lit up on your boards like a damn Christmas tree."

"That's what I'd like to know—"

It hit him. It hit Steve with all the tenderness of the torpedo he'd just turned over to the unidentified enemy, and he interrupted the commander. "'Cause it wasn't a damn sub, Andy! It was a _mini_-sub!"

Lopez froze. "Dammit! I should have thought of that! A mini is the only type of vessel that could elude the technology." He ground his teeth. "A mini-sub is designed for stealth. Can't do a hell of a lot more than get in and out without being seen, but it can do enough." Then he frowned. "But why a mini, Steve? You can't fire a torpedo from a mini. It doesn't have the equipment, or the room." He answered himself. "The X-56 would take care of that for them. It's self-propelling." He shook his head. "I'm glad we thought to remove the explosives in the nose cone. There's no way that they could replace the explosives on board the X-56."

Steve, though, had an answer for that, as well. "Unless there's a mother sub somewhere beyond the territorial waters," he said, still upset. "If only I could remember what happened," he groaned, holding his head in his hands. "Dammit!"

Lopez sighed. "The only thing we can do is to keep looking for the mother sub. I think you're right, Steve. That mini wouldn't have been able to chug all the way to the Islands without a home base, which suggests that there really is a Mama Sub out there."

Kono had more thoughts. "Can you find that Mama Sub?" she asked. "I mean, once you find where it's located, that should give us some clues as to what American target they intend to hit."

Lopez nodded slowly, and Steve envied him. If Steve tried to nod, he was afraid that his head would fall off. _What the hell; I might feel better without a head_.

"Good idea," Lopez approved. "We'll take this as a working scenario: the mini-sub takes the X-56 from Steve and Danny and brings it to their home base Mama Sub in order to examine it and bring it closer to whatever American target they've identified."

Kono frowned. "What about the sheik that Chin's protecting? That might be the American target."

"Not American," Lopez replied promptly. "The HMCS _Newton_ is Canadian."

"Or," Steve mused, "they could have been trying to fool us. Maybe they really did want the X-56 for its technology, some Third World country that's got delusions of grandeur."

Lopez had another answer. "Or drug runners," he said. "They've gotten hold of their own equipment, and have been running their cargo up and down the west coast of North and South America."

Steve shook his head—and wished that he hadn't. He forced himself to speak. "Not here. Hawaii is too far away from the mainland. Like you said, they'd need a mother ship for a base, and you haven't found any."

"It's a big ocean," Lopez reminded him. "The Mother Ship isn't in Hawaiian waters, but they could be just outside and we'd never know it. The territory to scan expands exponentially." He sighed once more. "The most likely scenario is that the mini-sub returned to Mama with our torpedo and is now on its way home to whatever little backwater country thinks that possessing a torpedo will threaten their neighbors even more than they already are." He grimaced. "Dammit! I was looking forward to nabbing some international criminals and putting them out of the way for good. I would have liked that."

"I don't think so, commander," Kono disagreed. "Danny distinctly said something about an American target, right before the _Sucker Punch_ was blown up."

Steve looked straight at Lopez. "Which also argues against a drug cartel, Andy. Drug runners wouldn't have blown Nycroft up along with his boat. They'd have hung onto him as an asset for as long as they could, used him whenever they needed to. No, this has to be something based out of some government that wants to stay incognito. Someone who wanted to tie up loose ends."

"Which then suggests that, contrary to what you heard Williams say, there is no American target. That they're headed back to where ever with our torpedo, and that your mystery woman only said that to throw you off."

"Why would she do that—"

"Commander!" The sailor monitoring the bank of equipment broke in. "Commander, I've got a ping!"

"Where? How big?" Lopez hastened to look over the sailor's shoulder. "It's big," he answered himself grimly. "It's 'Mama Sub' big. We hit the jackpot." He threw an order to another sailor, the one responsible for communication. "Get in touch with base. I want to know if there are any subs legitimately out there, people that we expect to be cruising near our waters."

"Yes, sir." The answer came back in seconds. "No, sir, none of our friends have any vessels in this area except for the Canadians, and their sub has already called in from the other side of Oahu."

Cmdr. Lopez moved into high gear, and Steve was reminded yet again as to why his friend had reached the rank that he had. "Alert Base; have all ships at ready. Transfer operational command to this vessel, to me personally. Have the _Commodore Jackson_, the _O'Neill_, and Carter's gunship converge on the target." He thought for a quick moment. "Send a message to the mainland; keep Washington in the loop. We may need some high-handed diplomatic services very soon to send an official protest."

* * *

><p>This was what Chin hated most about details such as this: the waiting. The waiting for something to happen. The waiting for it to be over, safe and sound, with nothing that happened.<p>

The waiting.

He deliberately leaned back in his chair, just to take an opportunity for some movement. His back was getting stiff from being in one position, watching all the video screens that were pointed at the various places around the harbor.

All twelve of Kam's men had just checked in once more, just as Kam had designed in his plans. With the exception of the sniper that Chin had discovered, there wasn't any flaw in what Kam had developed. All Chin had to do was to sit back, watch the screens—and wait.

Chin hated waiting.

At least the waiting to hear about the other half of Five-0 was over. Steve and Danny were safe, although worse for wear. Kono had told him that the navy ship they were on was making best time for the harbor, and from there a screaming ambulance would be transporting both men to Honolulu General. Kono hadn't been able to tell him much—the cell signal was better than it had been during the disastrous storm though not a great deal—but Kono didn't sound terrified. Scared, sure, but not terrified. Chin took that as a good sign. The pair would be up and walking around eventually; he'd get the details later.

He wondered about the sub that Danny had spoken of. _I'll bet that Cmdr. Lopez is dragging it out of him right now, no matter what_. Having a foreign sub in Hawaiian waters was enough to make anyone crazy, let alone the man responsible for the security of those waters. It didn't matter that Pearl Harbor was two generations back in history; the Islands had a long memory. They took their drills seriously.

The navy seaman beside him seemed to be intent on the sonar, and Chin's attention was caught by his actions. "You got something?"

"No. No, I don't think so."

"Yeah?" Chin's own nerves were on edge from this operation. Sonar wasn't likely to pinpoint a sniper, not twenty feet under water, but he couldn't help but look for something on which to focus.

"Probably a shark. Big one, from the size of this ping. Thirty footer, maybe."

"Great White? What else comes that big?"

"Whale shark. Harmless, mostly. Could be an orca."

"Killer whale? Didn't know they came that big." Chin deliberately transferred his attention back to his own screens. He had his own job to do. Danny's sub was far out to sea, where it wouldn't impact Chin's task.

"Some do."

The line of green light was swinging in a deliberate circle around the screen, and a cloudy _ping_ swept over something in the lower right quadrant. "That what you're looking at?" How the hell had Chin's eyes traveled back to the sonar screen without his approval?

"Yeah." The sailor frowned. "It's not acting like any fish I'm used to."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…" The sailor trailed off, then tried again. "Regular fish, they swim this way and that. Not really into straight lines; know what I mean? This one is trying to look like it's a fish, but the little back and forth stuff that sharks do are more like short little curves instead. It's different," he finished.

Chin didn't like _different_. He especially didn't like it when he was responsible for the security surrounding a Canadian vessel hosting a bunch of Big Shot Diplomats. "Can you identify it?"

"I can try."

_All that fancy equipment you've got? Those are my tax dollars you're sitting in front of. Make them justify the disgraceful amount that Uncle Sam takes from my paycheck._

* * *

><p>"Danno? Danno. Wake up, Danny. I need you to wake up."<p>

_I _am_ awake, Steven, but if I answer then you'll only want me to talk to you. I really don't feel up to it. I really don't._

"Danno, listen to me. We're on a boat, with Kono and Andy Lopez. We got shipwrecked."

_I know that, Steven. I was there, remember? I hauled your ass onto the beach._

"Before that, we were on the _Sucker Punch_. Remember?"

_Little hard to forget, getting blown out of the water. You got a point to all this?_

"Can't we give him some morphine, or something? Listen to him, Andy!"

_Was that me? Sorry, Steven. I'll try to groan more quietly. Now, would you go away and let a guy get some rest?_

"We need those answers, Steve. Morphine would put him to sleep in a heartbeat."

_So what's wrong with that?_

"This is national security. Get him to talk."

_It's always national security with you guys. Or the end of the world, or some such crap. Great—now you've got the entire US Navy harassing my ass. Go away, Steven._

"Danno, listen to me."

_Can't help but listen to you, Steven. You're shouting in my ear._

"Danno, the sub. The mini-sub. That was it, right?"

_It's like saying that an orca is a mini-whale, but yeah, I remember_.

"I think he said yes."

_Yes, Kono, I most definitely said yes. Are you in on this whole 'harass Danny Williams' kick, too?_

"There was a woman, there, Danno. She was in charge of the whole thing. Remember?"

_Yeah, I remember the bitch. Blonde. Heavy Slavic accent; Ukraine, I think, or maybe Lithuanian. Lot of people with accents like that where I grew up, Steven._

"You're getting to him, Steve. Keep going."

_Easy for you to say, Lopez. You're not lying here on this bed, swaying in the waves enough to make me seasick._

"Danny. Danno, listen to me. This is the important part. What did she say?"

_I'm here, in pain, bleeding all over the floor, bouncing in the surf like one of Kono's surfboards, and you want me to recite a conversation we had two days ago?_

"Danny, you told Kono and Chin that they had an American target in mind. What was it?"

_Me and my big mouth. Remind me next time to shut up._

"Danny, just wake up enough to tell enough to tell me what we need to know, and then, I promise you, you can have all the morphine you want. Just tell me, Danno."

_Steven! I'm impressed. Is that concern for your long-suffering partner I hear in your voice? Let me see if I can persuade my vocal cords to work_.

"What was that, Danno? Say again."

"I think he said 'ship'."

"Yeah, but which one? We've only got a few thousand docked around the islands. Danno, which ship? Big? Small? Military or civilian? What's the target?"

_Listen carefully, children, for I am only going to say this once before I gratefully pass out._ "They're going to aim that damn torpedo at the SS _Einstein_, or _Newton_, or _Rutherford_, or some such dead guy crap."

* * *

><p>Chin pursed his lips. He did not like this at all. There was something on sonar that they were supposed to think was a shark or other large fish, hunting for food in the same harbor where the HMCS <em>Newton<em> was docked and hosting a party for several American, Canadian, and Afghanistan diplomats.

Chin's job was to make certain that no snipers had the opportunity to demonstrate their skill upon the aforementioned vessel. The fact that a fish was swimming around in the water shouldn't make any difference to his detail. In fact, if it weren't for the fact that Cmdr. Lopez had loaned them this particular yacht, Chin would never have known that the 'fish' was there in the first place.

But he _was_ here, in the water, on this yacht, watching the green sweep _ping_ on the 'fish' every couple of seconds.

It couldn't be Steve and Danny's sub with the X-56. Commander Lopez had his fleet looking for that sub in international waters. This harbor where Chin sat was most definitely not international waters and a sub capable of holding some two dozen sailors wouldn't fit nearby without being instantly detected. What the hell was that thing, and why was it pretending to be a fish where Chin was stationed?

Had Chin mentioned recently that he had a suspicious nature?

"Move this thing to stay between that 'fish' and the _Newton_," he ordered.

"Sir?"

"You heard me. I need us to be between what you're seeing on sonar and the HMCS _Newton_."

"Yes, sir." They thought he was crazy. More than that, he was _dangerous_ crazy. "Uh, sir, you are aware that this is one of the most expensive vessels that the Navy has?"

"And the people on board the _Newton_ have the power to start or stop World War III," Chin returned grimly. "Do it."

* * *

><p>"Commander Lopez, the <em>O'Neill<em> reports that they've located the sub." The seaman gave the coordinates. "The sub's refusing to respond, sir."

"Anything out of Washington?"

"Not yet, sir. Still recommending caution while they get somebody out of bed."

Lopez grunted, clearly wanting more from his superiors, reluctant to take action that might blow up in their faces. He braced himself, feet wide apart. The ship they were on was making best time to shore, and the deck was less than steady. "It's still in international waters?"

"Yes, sir."

"Damn. One more mile in, and I'd have cause," he muttered, not quite under his breath.

Steve had his own problems, and only one of them was being able to perch on the narrow bunk that he was supposed to be resting on. "Let me try again," he said, reaching for Kono's cell phone. "Maybe we can reach a tower now." He tapped in the speed dial, listening to the rings.

"Kono, I'm a little busy right now—"

"Chin, it's me."

"Steve—! Are you all right?"

"No time for that. Listen, they have the X-56 and they're planning to use it to blow up the _Newton_. You hear me? They're going to blow up the _HMCS Newton_!"


	8. An Awfully Long Time

"Sir!" There was real concern in the seaman's voice. "Sir, the _ping_! It's moving to another location."

"Stay on it," Chin ordered. "Don't let it get a clear shot at the _Newton_. Keep it moving." He glanced around. "You got more lights on this rowboat?"

"Yes, sir!" As many of the crew as they could manage were huddled around, waiting for orders. There was a captain of the vessel, but he had prudently delegated mission command to the quasi-civilian. Two of the crew darted away to haul out the floodlights.

Chin followed them outside the small cabin, three more crewmen trailing him. The light shone into the dark water, the waves producing eerie shadows as they crested toward the dock.

Chin turned to Captain Davis. "What do you have on board that will stop a torpedo?"

Davis wasn't happy. "Besides the _Dream_ herself? Not much. This isn't a vessel designed for ocean battles. We're a small craft; we do better with smugglers and small arms fights." He indicated the weapons locker. "We have our own sniper equipment that can put one straight between the eyes of an anchovy, but no anti-torpedo gear." Davis had another objection. "They won't get to the _Newton_. All we have to do is stay between the _Newton_ and the mini-sub, and they won't be able to launch the X-56. It will never reach the _Newton_."

Chin had the answer to that, too. "What if someone added a lot more explosive to the nose cone of the torpedo? You think some of the damage will be to the _Newton_ after it finishes blowing us out of the water?"

It was too dark to see the color drain out of Davis's face, but Chin had no doubt that it had happened. He tried to put his best spin on it. "Commander Lopez and his ship will be here within ten minutes, McGarrett says. All we have to do is keep them from putting the torpedo into the _Newton_ for ten more minutes, and then it's Lopez's problem." He stared out over the water, willing a large dark shape to become visible. "All we've got going for us right now is that the enemy wants to blow up the _Newton_ without us deflecting any of the blast. Let's keep them thinking that."

* * *

><p>Even the ship itself was straining to move faster than was possible, slicing through the calm waves, racing back to the harbor where disaster lay brewing. Steve himself could feel the engines working, could feel the vessel almost skimming across the surface of the night-blackened waters. He cast a guilty eye at his partner, strapped onto the bunk across the way so that the man wouldn't roll off and onto the deck. <em>I should be taking you to the nearest hospital, bro. Not into battle on board a military vessel<em>. Kono's own eyes were huge with a _what have I gotten myself_ into look.

Chin's people had located the mini-sub, and it was just inside the harbor where the HMCS _Newton_ lay. A mini-sub, Steve knew, was too small to hold a launching tube for the X-56 but that didn't matter. The X-56 came with its own propulsion system and at this point Steve didn't have any doubt that the quantity of explosive in the nose had been increased to the point where it could put a big hole into a battleship. It didn't matter that the Navy had removed the detonation device before Steve and Danny had 'sold' it. Someone had planned to disrupt the negotiations going on onboard the _Newton_, and they intended to do it with as much chaos and killing as they could manage.

Ten minutes. Chin could hang on for ten more minutes, until Steve and Kono and Andy Lopez arrived to blow the mini-sub out of the water.

Ten minutes seemed an awfully long time.

* * *

><p>Captain Davis lowered his night-vision. "That's them. That's the <em>Royston, <em>Commander Lopez's vessel. Another five minutes."

"You think the mini-sub knows they're coming? No, not yet." Chin answered his own question. "If they did, they'd launch the X-56 without waiting." He didn't add the corollary: _we'd be wet by now. Or dead_.

Davis tightened his lips. "I'll have the men don life-jackets." He glanced at Chin. "You, too."

* * *

><p>Steve made his way to the command center, hand over hand to stabilize himself against the bounding of the ship, Kono in his wake. He'd never felt so helpless, so useless. On every military vessel that he'd served, he'd had a task to perform, a mission to accomplish. Here, he was just another bystander, waiting for someone else to execute.<p>

What would the bitch do, once she realized that the word was out? Did she even have a clue that Steve and Danny had survived what was intended to be a fatal explosion of the _Sucker Punch_? That they had been rescued in time to spread the news?

Her plot was finished. Even if she succeeded in putting a hole into the HMCS _Newton_, the blame wouldn't be laid at the feet of the Americans.

Yes, it would. Steve had seen enough diplomatic lying to know that anyone who had an ax to grind with the West would say that Steve himself was the liar. There would still be a lot of dead people on the _Newton_, and not a thing that Steve could do about it.

Nothing except stop that damn torpedo from reaching its mark.

* * *

><p>"I see turbulence." Chin was astounded at his success in keeping the terror out of his voice.<p>

Captain Davis lifted his own goggles. "It's the torpedo." He raised his voice, his words steady and commanding. "Look alive, men! This is it! All hands to the lifeboats!" He glanced over at Chin. "You ready?"

_No, but does that really matter?_ "As ready as I'll ever be."

Another look from Davis. "You should get into the lifeboat, too. This is just a boat." His expression belied his words.

"So can you, captain," Chin returned. "So can you." He picked up the rifle laying at his side and hefted it. It had more weight than he was used to, and better scopes. Chin was accustomed to using a gun for crowd control, or bringing down a fleeing suspect. Sniper fire had never been something that he aspired to.

Now it was. He aimed at the oncoming torpedo, the thing looking frighteningly like a shark in a bad movie.

Missed. Missed again. The water and the darkness together conspired against him.

Chin needed to hit the damn thing. He needed to hit it in just the right spot to cause the explosives inside to detonate. The sooner, the better: the closer it was, the more chance it had to turning the _Rich Man's Dream_ into a bundle of toothpicks. It was a tough shot, and the pitching of the yacht as the lifeboats sped away made it all the more difficult.

Missed. _Dammit!_ Chin ground his teeth.

_No time for this. No time for nerves_. Chin deliberately forced calm into himself. _This will be the one_.

_Feel the stock of the rifle next to his cheek, feel the weight nestled against his shoulder. Stare down the sights, move with the oncoming rush of bubbles. Those bubbles are at the tail of the beast. You want the nose, where the explosives live, Chin, my boy._

_A mere fifteen feet away. Ten._

_Gently caress the trigger._

He never realized when his feet left the deck of the _Rich Man's Dream_. There was a brief sensation of flying, then he hit the cold water.


	9. Depth Charges Away

Commander Lopez's voice was clear and steady. "Depth charges away."

"Aye, sir. Depth charges away."

They couldn't let the mini-sub escape. That was the priority. Capturing it would be proof to the rest of the world that any damage from the X-56 wasn't due to American interests. Capturing the bitch and her crew would be a welcome bonus.

Lopez's men already had the boom in play, grabbing onto the lifeboats and hauling them on board. The _Rich Man's Dream_ had suffered a gash in her side and was taking on water; more cables were being attached to tow her into dock before she could sink. The torpedo had exploded before it could reduce the _Dream_ to kindling, and Steve knew that Chin had sacrificed his own chance in the lifeboat to protect his country. _Did you sacrifice your life as well, brother?_

A low, rumbling thunder shook the waves, then a second, and a third. Steve grabbed onto the bulkhead to steady himself, recognizing the tell-tale signs of the depth charges. Had they been close enough? Fast enough? Had the mini-sub turned tail and run, once her payload was discharged? It was what Steve himself would have done, if he were on their side.

Massive floodlights scanned the waves, searching for lifeboats, for sailors tipped overboard into the water—and for one mini-sub.

More churning of the waves: the mini-sub breached, pushing a lifeboat out of reach of the boom. Steve saw instantly that the damage to the small vessel was extensive. The mini-sub had been lucky to survive long enough to surface. Lopez had done a damn fine job of positioning his depth charges.

The hatch opened, and a head popped out—followed by the long nose of a weapon.

Steve instinctively moved toward the danger, reaching for a weapons locker.

Lopez glared at him. "Mine!"

"Mine!" Steve insisted.

"Mine, McGarrett!" Lopez growled. "My boat, my water, my catch!" He tossed another glare over his shoulder. "Officer Kalakaua, tie this man down before I shoot him myself in frustration."

Kono gulped.

Lopez took pity on her, and delegated a task to her boss to keep him out of danger and out of Lopez's hair. "If you must do something, Steve, then go help look for sailors in the water. Do a head count on the _Rich Man's Dream_; make sure we've got everyone safe. Just stay out of the line of fire!"

* * *

><p>Steve dashed out onto the deck, Kono a short hop behind. Sailors were running back and forth, pulling their fellows from the <em>Rich Man's Dream<em> on board from the ocean waters, using the boom to pull the lifeboats to safety, and above all: staying away from the lee side where gunfire was being exchanged.

Kono grabbed the sailor with the clipboard in his hand. "Headcount?"

The sailor swayed with the waves, casting his gaze over the small crowd of drenched sailors getting blankets and being hustled down below. "We got most of 'em safe. All but two: the captain, and one other. They're getting that guy out of the water right now. Everyone's accounted for, all safe." He pointed at a man swimming in the water toward his rescuers, then pointed again at a man who stood on the far away deck of the _Rich Man's Dream_. "Captain Davis won't leave his ship, wants to stay as it gets towed into dock."

"Is it going under?" Steve, Kono knew, had sailed all varieties of craft since he was three, and was well aware of what could happen.

"Probably not. Somebody blew up the torpedo before it hit the hull. Probably saved the ship, truth be told."

Kono could see the jagged hole in the hull of the _Rich Man's Dream_, and shuddered. Chin had been on that vessel, had been one of the shooters aiming at the torpedo. Had her cousin's bullet been the one to stop the torpedo? Wouldn't put it past him.

She watched her boss for signs that the concussion was getting the better of him, and saw none. Steve's attention had been caught by the sight of the mini-sub. Lopez's second in command had a bullhorn, and was urging the mini-sub's crew to give up without a fight. It was the only sensible thing to do; without assistance, the mini-sub would sink to the bottom of the harbor within the hour.

Someone on board the mini-sub was disinclined to be sensible. A shot rang out—and was returned by six men on board the _Royston_. The body slumped over, his weapon dropping into the briny deep.

"You're not getting out of this," came from the bullhorn. "Make it easy on yourselves."

Kono had another thought, one not directly related to the mini-sub. She tapped the sailor with the clipboard on his shoulder. "What about Detective Kelly?" she asked. "Chin Ho Kelly. He was on board the _Rich Man's Dream_," she added. "Did you get him on board?"

"Who?"

"Chin Ho Kelly," Kono repeated, aware of Steve turning his attention back to her. "He was the HPD man in charge of harbor security for the _Newton_." An icicle formed in her gut. "You got him on board, right?"

"Ma'am, he's not on the list of crew." The sailor was getting equally nervous.

"That's because he's not crew. He's guest." Steve moved in. "You pull him on board from one of the lifeboats?"

"No, sir."

"Get me the captain of the _Rich Man's Dream_," Steve ordered. "Get on your radio right now, sailor!"

"Got him, sir!" The sailor fumbled with his radio. "Captain Davis, I've got Lt. Cmdr. McGarrett—"

"Give me that." Steve pulled the radio out of the sailor's hand. "Steve McGarrett here, captain; Hawaii Five-0. My man, Chin Ho Kelly—where is he?"

"Isn't he with you? I thought one of the lifeboats picked him up out of the drink."

"He's not here," Steve affirmed grimly. "How about down below decks?"

"I saw him fall overboard, right after the torpedo exploded. It was his shot that took out the torpedo. If he's not with you, McGarrett, then he's in the water!"

Steve swore. "Bring those floodlights around," he bawled. "We've got another man in the water!"

"Steve, look!" Kono's keen eyes caught sight of a blob of white against the dark water the color stark alongside the barely visible orange of the life-jacket in the night. "There he is!"

It didn't matter that Steve McGarrett's only excuse for not having a concussion was that there wasn't a doctor around to provide the formal diagnosis. It didn't matter that less than two hours ago he was flat on his back on a deserted island, waiting to be rescued. It didn't matter that there were bullets flying from the sinking mini-sub with some desperate people on board.

What mattered was that Chin Ho Kelly was in the water, and he wasn't moving.

* * *

><p>Steve took three steps before diving over the rail, slicing cleanly through the water with the expertise of a man as at home in the waves as on shore. Kono was a bare half pace behind him.<p>

Bullets followed him into the water. Steve let the curses ring through his addled brains, and dove deep to escape them. What idiots were on the mini-sub, that they'd waste the lead trying to take out a single man in the water? Geniuses ought to be shooting back at the sailors on deck. Better yet, stop shooting all together and give themselves up.

_Idiots!_

Steve saw the white linen from Chin's shirt, coming up from below. Any more bullets, and they'd be putting some red blood onto that white shirt. _Couldn't have that; might attract a few sharks_. He reached out long arms and grabbed the shirt, dragging Chin's limp body down under the surface where they couldn't be seen.

Next step: air. Steve aimed for a piece of hull that he'd spotted. It would serve as a shield until he could get them far enough away from the mini-sub so that the bullets wouldn't reach them. A dead fish, nearly as long as his arm, floated belly up next to them. Concussive force, Steve determined. The blast from the depth charges would have killed some of the fish swimming nearby. The sharks would have a field day, eating up the remains.

Steve surfaced, Chin in his arms. Step two: was Chin breathing? Steve held his own breath, waiting…waiting…

_Cough_. Cough again.

_Relief!_

Steve ducked them both down behind the piece of hull. He noted wryly that the piece of ship's hull held the word '_Dream_'.

It fit. It fit.

* * *

><p>Kono could swim in McGarrett's wake, collecting bullets and offering a larger target for the mini-sub's crew to aim at, or she could do something more useful.<p>

She chose to be more useful.

After years spent in the water, Kono could swim like a fish. Skimming just below the surface of the water and taking advantage of the camouflage offered by the night, she circled the mini-sub to arrive at the far side, taking note of where it was taking on water.

The depth charges had done a fine job. There was a hole in the forward hull that had already flooded one of the main compartments, and that was the one that would eventually sink the mini-sub unless Lopez was able to tow it into dry dock before that happened. After all the trouble caused by the mini-sub, Kono was pleased to see the damage.

It didn't, however, do much for capturing the bitch who had stationed herself in the mini-sub's tower, aiming shots at the sailors on board the _Royston_ from behind the cover of the hatch. Kono had a _particular_ bone to pick with that bitch. Anyone who blew up half of the Five-0 team _deserved_ some grief from the other half.

She'd have to be careful. There were bullets coming from fast and furious from the _Royston_, and getting nailed by friendly cross-fire was not what Kono had in mind. Also, she had no gun. Bullets tended not to work particularly well when wet, and Kono was well aware that the harbor contained a massive amount of _wet_.

Kono considered the problem, and smiled. The solution presented itself in the form of handholds along the outside of the mini-sub. They were designed for maintenance, for workers to climb to the top of the sub when the vessel was high and dry, and they would work nicely in this situation. As an added benefit, bullets clanging against the hull of the sub covered over any noise that she made as she clambered up the side.

There was Kono's target, perched inside the mini-sub's tower, an automatic in her hands and firing at the sailors on the _Royston_. The bitch could keep this up, Kono realized, until she either ran out of ammunition or the sub sank. If the sub sank, it would take days if not weeks before divers could pull up enough to determine the identity of the woman and her crew. That would delay figuring out who was behind the whole operation. If they were unlucky, the salt water would so damage the evidence that they would never be able to identify the perpetrators. That, Kono decided, was this woman's goal: to protect her superiors.

_Not going to happen_. Kono ascended the rungs as quietly as she could, well aware that if the woman got even an inkling of her presence, all that needed to happen was one short burst of automatic gunfire to turn Kono into shark chum.

Climb a rung; freeze. Climb the next; freeze. Inch by silent inch, Kono stalked her prey. The woman's automatic rifle gleamed in the harsh floodlights from the _Royston_, and the air was redolent with smoke from the gunpowder. Kono wanted to sneeze.

_Not in this lifetime. Any closer, and she'll feel me breathing down her neck_. Kono lunged, a long arm outstretched and aiming for the hand with the automatic. She grabbed it out of the woman's hand and tossed it overboard.

The next sound out of the woman's mouth was either not a word or something vile in whatever language she spoke. Whatever it was, it was unprintable by Kono's standards.

Kono didn't have time for pleasant chit-chat. She instinctively blocked the arm descending on her head, and launched her own counter-attack. In the background she could hear Lopez shouting at the sailors to stop firing, and more than one seaman was cheering her on. _You taking bets on who's going to win, me or her, sailor?_

_It's going to be me!_

The blonde outweighed Kono by some thirty pounds or so, but Kono had the longer reach—and Kono was all muscle.

And she was _pissed!_

Block the arm. Return the strike, aiming for the nose—missed, but rattled the brains. Kono used the moment to climb higher, working for a better vantage point. Another block, another palm strike in return—the bitch slumped over.

Kono stared, almost hoping that the woman was faking unconsciousness. No, Kono wrapped the woman's arm behind her in an arm lock, and the woman didn't stir.

Kono raised her voice to be heard across the waves. "It's over. Send over a boat to pick us up." She considered, feeling in her back pocket. "Anybody got a pair of handcuffs? Mine are floating down to the bottom of the harbor."


	10. The End of the Story

Steve glowered as Lopez's men loaded the two unconscious bodies onto stretchers for transport to the military base hospital.

Lopez correctly interpreted the look. "Don't even think about it, McGarrett," he said. "One word from you, and you're joining them, tied to another stretcher to keep you from pulling another stunt. What the hell were you thinking, jumping into the water like that?"

"I was thinking," Steve returned stiffly, "_man overboard_."

"And _I_ was thinking," Lopez pushed, "that a man with a concussion, rescued from a hunk of rock in the middle of the Pacific, would have the sense not to dive into the harbor in the middle of a pitched gun battle, when we could have sent out a boat in another couple of minutes."

"Chin could have drowned by then."

"If he hadn't drowned within the first few minutes, he wasn't about to drown by the time we got to him. Face it, Steve; you're an adrenaline junkie."

"Here, here." That came from one of the 'unconscious' bodies on a stretcher. The voice was weak, but clear.

"Danno!" Steve hastened to the side of his partner. "Danno, you okay?"

"No, Steven, I am not okay, hence my current position as a slice of lox positioned on this bagel masquerading as a stretcher. You might have noticed, Steven, that I seem to have this hole in my leg, another one in my side, and they both hurt like hell. Fortunately for you, Steven, someone with a kind heart gave me morphine so that I really don't give a rat's ass how I feel."

Steve looked up at Lopez, and at Kono, a mixed expression of delight and disgust. "He's okay," Steve announced. "He's talking, and he's not making sense. He's back to normal."

* * *

><p>"This," Danny observed, "is not my place."<p>

"Very good, Detective Williams," Kono replied serenely, pulling her car into the driveway and coasting to a halt. "Care to guess as to whom this home belongs?"

Danny glowered at the house, at the roses on the corner, at the neatly trimmed shrubs in front, and especially at the name on the mailbox: McGarrett. "I have enough trouble with McGarrett, now you're trying to be like him? What are we doing here? I want to go home, to my own place, where I can recuperate in peace."

"You can't recuperate by yourself," Kono told him.

"Can, too."

"You'll eat horrible take-out food, with no nutritional value whatsoever—"

"I thrive on take-out."

"You'll forget to take your medicine—"

"Which is highly over-rated, I might add."

"And you'll put on your tie."

Danny stared at her. "What does my putting on a tie have to do with recuperating?"

Kono turned off the car engine. "We're here," she announced unnecessarily. "Don't try to get out until I come around and get you."

"I can walk, Kono. I've been doing it since I was, what, two years old?"

"Right. That's what you said while trying to get into my car on the way out of the hospital. You almost fell flat on your face. If that corpsman hadn't caught you—"

"Yeah, yeah." Danny pushed open the car door and swung his legs out.

_Mistake_. Kono hustled around in time to shove her shoulder under the man's arm, before his leg gave out from underneath him. "You think you might want to listen to me?"

"I…always…listen…to you…" Why the hell was his breath so short? He'd only been in bed for a couple of days. Damn rocks. Damn hospital. Dammit, now his vision was failing him. "I think…I'd better…sit down…"

"Steve, a little help here?" That was Kono, calling out to the house.

Danny felt a strong hand under his other arm, and a deep chuckle. _You're just laughing because my eyes aren't working well enough to see you_. "I thought…you were…recuperating…too."

"Sit down before you fall down, Danno."

Next thing he knew, he was flat on his back on something that felt suspiciously like a sofa. His feet were high in the air, and someone was wiping the sweat off his face.

"Crap."

"He's back." Chin too was present, although Danny's eyes weren't helping in the slightest with the identification. His ears had to do all the work.

Had he said that out loud?

"Yes, you did," Steve told him, a worried laugh coming through. "Seriously, bro, should you be out of sick bay so soon? Andy told me that you insisted on leaving."

Danny kept his eyes closed. "Do you know how boring it is in there?"

"Yeah, I might have an inkling," Steve said dryly. "It's what makes it so appealing to get better."

"Then you know why I insisted on leaving." Danny chanced opening his eyes, pleased when it only took two minutes for his vision to clear.

Kono looked the best of them, with a black eye, courtesy of the commander of the mini-sub. Chin had a white dressing across his forehead and a drawn look to his face that said getting up out of the easy chair he was in was about as easy as cracking this case. McGarrett was well over the worst of his concussion, but the various cuts and bruises that he'd collected while on this mission still bore mute evidence of the damage.

"Yeah, but the blonde bitch looks worse," Steve informed him. "Nice work, Kono."

That brought back memories for Danny. "You got her?"

"She's in custody," Chin said. "She's not talking, but it's only a matter of time. We got one of her men, as well, and I hear he's close to cracking."

Steve looked at Chin. "How'd you find that out?"

Chin smirked. "I have my ways, bossman."

Danny frowned. "So we don't know which country launched the mission to try to take out Sheik What's His Name?"

"No, but we will," Steve said complacently. "She burned off her fingerprints with some acid, but facial recognition is coming up with some possibilities. Interpol has gotten into the act. I hear they're pretty pleased with us."

Kono nodded. "Chin's sniper, Yuri Denisovitch or whatever his real name is, was a wanted man for the last several years, but no one could find him. That too is a lead to figure out who was behind this, and Interpol grabbed all the intel we had. In the meantime," she added, "there will be no work for any of you for the next week. No files, no computers, just a lot of lounging outside in the sun."

"No ties?" Steve asked oh-so-innocently.

Danny stared suspiciously at first Steve, then Kono, then Chin. "What's with all the ties? All of a sudden you're interested in my neckwear?"

"Nothing," Steve replied, watching Kono.

"Not a thing," Chin agreed. He, too, was eying his cousin.

"Steven? Kono? Is there something I should know?"

"Not a thing, Danno."

"Nope. Nothing."

It dawned. "You made a bet. You made a bet as to whether or not I'd put on a tie while on sick leave," Danny accused. "Admit it."

"Not me."

"Not me, either."

"Liars. Terrible liars, both of you." Danny lay back on the sofa and stretched out his arms over his head, trying for the best position of ease that he could. It didn't work; the wince betrayed him when he pulled on the stitches in his side. Danny settled for a smirk. "How much? Twenty?"

Silence.

"Fifty?"

"Getting closer."

"Good." Danny closed his eyes. "The winner will be the one who treats me best. Have at it, lady and gentlemen."


End file.
